The elevator ride down felt longer than it should have.
Eva stood alone inside it, her reflection multiplying faintly across the mirrored walls. The lights overhead hummed softly, steady and indifferent, as if nothing of consequence had just been said several floors above. She watched the numbers descend, her face composed, chin lifted—but her eyes betrayed her. They were darker now, sharper, scanning herself as though she were both subject and witness.
Her blouse had wrinkled slightly at the waist where she’d leaned forward earlier. She smoothed it absently, fingers brushing the fine fabric, grounding herself in the sensation. Control, she reminded herself, had always been her language.
When the elevator doors slid open, the lobby greeted her with a wash of cool air and muted sound. Ma
