QUIET WARS

BEFORE THE FALL

Beryl Sloane remained at her desk long after the office had emptied, her fingers still tapping steadily at the keyboard as the last chairs were pushed in and footsteps disappeared down the corridor. She wasn’t in a hurry. She reread documents others would have glanced over, fixed errors no one else had noticed, and saved her work twice before finally powering down her computer.

When she eventually rose from her chair, she paused to neaten the pile of papers on the shared desk beside her. They weren’t hers to manage, but she adjusted them all the same. The following morning, she arrived ahead of nearly everyone. By the time the office filled with conversation, her notebook was already marked with reminders for the day’s work.

When questions or concerns surfaced, they found their way to her desk without anyone needing to ask.

“Can you check this?”

“What do you think about this part?”

“Does this make sense to you?”

She responded with calm clarity, a quiet confidence in her voice. The small smile she wore made her words sound assured.

At times, she noticed people still looking at her afterward. That was what unsettled her. She adjusted her chair, rolled her shoulders, suddenly too aware of herself. Attention had a way of doing that—pulling her inward in ways she didn’t enjoy. She buried herself in her work after that. She worked through the morning without once looking up. Her fingers kept moving, her mind scanning over details, small worries threading through her focus.

She barely felt the hunger twisting in her stomach until a shadow paused at her desk.

“You’re skipping lunch again, aren’t you?”

It was Mara.

Mara worked two floors down in communications, far enough from Beryl’s usual rhythm that being near her felt like stepping into a different world. She wore brighter colors, laughed louder, and moved through the office as if it belonged to her. Where Beryl drew inward, Mara seemed to fill the space.

“I was just finishing something,” Beryl said, already saving her work.

Mara raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been ‘just finishing something’ since ten.”

Beryl smiled at herself and stood, grabbing her bag. The elevator ride down was quiet, but easy, the kind of silence that didn’t need to be filled. Outside, the air felt lighter. The café across the street buzzed with lunchtime energy—cutlery clinking, voices mingling with warmth, sunlight spilling through the windows. They ordered quickly and found a small table in the corner. “So,” Mara said, unwrapping her sandwich, “you’ve been busy.” Beryl shrugged. “Same as always.”

Mara didn’t look convinced. “People notice things. Not in a bad way, just… noticing.” That word made Beryl uneasy.

She stirred her drink, watching the ice shift. “I don’t know what there is to notice.” “That’s because you never look up,” Mara said softly. “You just do the work and disappear.” Beryl stayed quiet. She liked being here away from the desks, away from the eyes. She could breathe. But Mara’s words lingered.

They talked about lighter stuff after that weekend plans, a show Mara thought she’d like, the office printers that always broke. Beryl laughed more than she expected. Her shoulders felt looser. As they got up to leave, Mara paused. “Hey,” she said quietly. “Whatever’s happening up there… you deserve it.” Beryl nodded. She didn’t know why it stuck with her. Back at her desk, the usual weight returned, but something felt different. She worked through the afternoon, focused, the office noise less heavy than before.

Still, by the end of the day, there was a pull she couldn’t name, like standing at the edge of something she didn’t yet understand.