My thoughts are too thin to catch. My breath is too quick to hold. My hands are too unsteady to keep. I feel the raw edges of the night coming, the raw edges of change beneath my skin, beneath my life. My claws scratch against the surface of my thoughts, against the surface of my office, against the surface of me. The quick panic of this hits harder than I am ready for. I can’t stop it. I can’t stop it. I am supposed to be past this. I am supposed to be prepared.
I’m not.
The day’s meetings blur together in my mind. The documents on my desk blur together in my vision. The world blurs together. It is too soon for this. Too soon for me. My pulse is fast and thin and sharp, a sharpness I cannot keep, a sharpness that I cannot let them see, not here, not now. It races through me, wild and de
