The clinic ran like clockwork the next morning. Ten minutes. Problem surfaced, problem solved. Elena pinged with a quick update, her tone sharper than yesterday: ghost retainer gone, but Northline’s CFO keeps sniffing around for control. I shot back, remind him this is intake, not empire. Boundaries are product too.
Sandra passed by with her usual nod, but I caught the faintest twitch at the corner of her mouth. Approval, in Sandra-speak. I should have felt light. Instead, I was buzzing with the weight of a text from the night before.
Roman: Tomorrow won’t be small.
I’d thrown the phone face-down and pretended I was too drunk to care. But all day, the words sat like a stone in my pocket. Tomorrow had arrived, and apparently, it wasn’t here to play nice.
Maya noticed. Of course she did.
