The Wellness Protocol

Elena swallowed her daily vitamin D3 with tap water, staring at the corporate logo emblazoned on the supplement bottle. VitaLife Solutions — where wellness met profit margins, and where she'd spent seven years climbing from entry-level analyst to Senior Product Developer.

The office was quiet at 8 PM. Only Marcus was still there, his lamp the only other golden pool of light in the open-plan workspace. Marcus, who'd become her friend during those brutal months when her mother was dying. Marcus, who brought her coffee and sat with her in the hospital cafeteria and never once asked her to be okay.

"Working late again?" she called out, already knowing his answer.

Marcus looked up, his expression unreadable. "Always."

She should have walked back to her desk. Should have finished her market analysis for the new anti-aging line. But her computer had been acting strange all week — files opening on their own, cursor movements she didn't remember making. And yesterday, she'd found a USB drive in the restroom that she knew didn't belong to anyone on their team.

Instead, she drifted toward his cubicle, her pulse loud in her ears. "Marcus, can I ask you something?"

His posture shifted almost imperceptibly. Wariness.

"That competitor intelligence report from last quarter — the one that somehow predicted our pricing strategy three days before we released it." She stopped, her hand resting on the edge of his desk. "How did they know?"

The silence stretched. Somewhere, the building's HVAC hummed, a mechanical heart beating through the walls.

"I needed the money, Elena." His voice was barely audible. "My brother's medical bills. They offered me five years' salary to pass along some quarterly reports. That's all it was supposed to be."

She thought about her daily vitamins, about the faith she placed in something she bought from a bottle. About how she'd trusted Marcus with her mother's eulogy, with her fears, with the parts of herself she kept hidden from the world.

"The water under the bridge," she said finally, something hollowing out in her chest. "That's what people say, right?"

Marcus reached for her hand, his eyes bright with unshed tears. "Please. You're the only real friend I have."

She pulled away. "And you're just another spy who's good at pretending."

She walked back to her desk, packed her bag, and left without turning off her lamp. The bottle of vitamins remained where she'd placed it that morning, exactly twenty-four pills gone, twenty-six remaining.

Tomorrow she'd find another job. Tonight, she'd finally learn to sleep without trusting anything at all.