The elevator descended in a vacuum of silence, a silver coffin carrying me away from the sky-high wreckage of my life. The digital numbers ticked down—45, 44, 43—each one a step further away from the woman I had been when I ascended. The cool, rational architect in my head was already categorizing the damage, assessing structural weaknesses, calculating the force required for a total demolition. But beneath that, another part of me was still reeling, a ghost limb still aching for a connection that had been brutally severed.
Then came the ping. A soft, electronic chime that cut through the silence like a shard of glass.
I pulled the phone from my purse. The screen glowed with a single notification: an encrypted email. My heart gave a painful, sluggish lurch. My team knew better than to us
