Zara
As Mayhem pulls to the curb, I sit there for one breath longer.
Not because I’m afraid, but because I want to remember this exact moment.
The last stretch before the end.
The first step before the beginning.
I open the door.
The building is quieter than I expected.
Not empty, not lifeless, but contained in a way that feels deliberate, as though everything inside it has been arranged to keep emotion at a distance, to smooth out the edges of decisions that carry weight people would rather not feel too closely.
It’s all polished floors, muted tones, and the quiet, measured rhythm of people who deal in endings every day.
The receptionist looks up when I approach, her smile professional, practiced.
I give my name, and she tells me to take a seat, so I do.
I’m waiting all of thre
