By nine, the office already knew. They always know. I could feel it before I saw it, that weird ripple in the air when people decide your private life is community property.
Maya met me at the turnstiles with two coffees and a face that said she’d kill me and also wanted details. “You’re trending,” she murmured.
“On what, the Slack of hell?”
“Worse. Mouths.”
We passed Ken. He gave me a small nod that meant I was safe in the five feet around his desk. Past that, it was open season. Ops Corner watched me arrive like a theater audience trying to be subtle. Star whispered to Leaf. Leaf pretended not to hear. The Wave stared at the carpet like it had answers.
I set my bag down, flipped the clinic sign to open, and braced. The first DM hit before my laptop finished waking up.
HR: Pop by at
