The Sphinx of Floor Forty-Seven

By 11 PM, Elena moved through the office like a zombie—not the pop-culture brain-eater variety, but the walking corporate kind: eyes glazed, soul hollowed out by quarterly targets and fluorescent lights. She'd stopped at her desk only to grab her phone. There were three unread texts from Marcus.

"We need to talk."

She deleted them without reading.

The elevator dinged. Floor Forty-Seven. That's where Victoria waited—the CEO they'd hired six months ago to "revitalize the brand." Victoria with her impeccable suits and her impossible questions. She was a sphinx in stilettos, perched on the edge of Elena's desk, smiling like she already knew the answer before she asked.

"What's the cost of authenticity, Elena?" Victoria had asked during Monday's all-hands. No one had responded. The question had hung in the air like smoke.

Now Victoria was still there, at this hour, because of course she was.

"You're still here," Victoria said, not a question.

Elena leaned against the doorframe. "Some of us don't have options."

"Everyone has options. They're just afraid to see them."

"What is that, some corporate riddle? If I answer correctly, do I get to keep my health insurance?"

Victoria's smile didn't waver. "I like you, Elena. You're the only one who's angry. The rest are already dead inside."

The words hit harder than Elena expected. She slid to the floor, back against the wall, and for the first time in three years, she let herself feel it—all of it. The layoffs she'd overseen. The friendship with Sarah she'd let dissolve into nothing but quarterly check-ins. The marriage to Marcus that had become two people sleeping in the same bed, living different lives.

"I don't know who I am anymore," Elena whispered.

Victoria crouched beside her. "Then find out. The riddle's not supposed to be easy."

Elena's phone buzzed again. Marcus. Then another notification: Sarah, tagging her in a photo from college, back when they were broke and happy and the future felt like something you could hold in your hands.

A friend. A real one.

Elena stood up, grabbed her bag, and walked out of the office without looking back. Some riddles you don't solve. You just stop playing the game.