Lena's POV
The office is too quiet when it’s this late.
The kind of quiet that hums inside your bones, where the air smells like stale coffee and blue light, and the only sound is the faint buzz of the vending machine across the hall.
The clock on the wall ticks past nine p.m.
I drag a hand over my face and glance at the monitor again, the rows of campaign data that look like static now. Sienna’s name sits beside mine on the project sheet, and it makes me want to throw my pen across the room. She’s long gone—probably already home, wrapped in silk sheets, dreaming about being brilliant. Meanwhile, I’m here trying to fix the mess we both presented.
My jaw aches from grinding my teeth. “You’re a genius, Lena,” I mutter under my breath. “Stay late, pick up everyone’s slack. Perfect employ
