Briar Point of view
The morning slipped through Briar's fingers like water through a sieve. Phone calls stacked one on top of the other — a supplier demanding payment confirmation, a client rescheduling for the third time, someone from accounting asking about receipts she'd already submitted twice.
Her inbox filled faster than she could clear it, each new notification a small pulse of pressure behind her eyes. She typed responses with the kind of mechanical efficiency that came from years of practice, her fingers finding the keys without looking, her voice shifting into that polished professional register the moment she picked up the receiver.
Between the calls, between the emails, between the small tasks that kept her hands busy — her mind drifted.
It always drifted to the same pla
