"Take a seat, Miss Winters."
Freya hesitated for a fraction of a second before stepping forward, her fingers tightening imperceptibly into a ball. The air in the Human Resources Office was thick with tension, the kind that clung to the back of her throat like the aftertaste of bitter coffee. She had just returned from her not so peaceful lunch when she was summoned.
The man behind the desk was Director Dulce, a figure carved from decades of corporate ruthlessness. His steel-gray hair and the deep lines etched into his face spoke of authority, but his eyes—cold and unyielding—betrayed something far more personal. His elbows rested heavily on the polished mahogany desk, his clasped hands forming a steeple that seemed more like a barricade than a gesture of thought.
"For a newbie in the
