LENA’S POV
The office doesn’t sleep anymore.
The hum of servers and the faint whine of the HVAC system fill every silence. Even the lights look tired—too bright, too white—spilling across glass walls and reflecting back a dozen versions of me: anxious, over-caffeinated, running out of oxygen.
Three days until the board presentation.
Three days to pull a miracle from numbers that won’t hold still.
The marketing floor downstairs went home hours ago. Here on the top level, only Sebastian’s office glows like a control tower. My desk outside it is a battlefield—half-empty coffee cups, spreadsheets printed and crossed out, sticky notes like fallen soldiers. I’ve checked the projections five times; they still don’t match.
“Start again,” Sebastian says from his desk. He doesn’t look up. His
