COLE
Something was wrong with Nova.
I noticed it on the bus to the airport. She was in her usual seat, seven rows back, earbuds in, tablet open. From the outside, she looked exactly like she always looked. Blazer. Posture. The professional mask fitted so tightly you’d need surgical tools to pry it loose. But I had spent enough time watching her in sessions and at events and across crowded rooms to know when the mask was doing more work than usual.
Her shoulders were too straight. Not the natural rigidity of a woman who carried herself with discipline. The locked, braced stiffness of someone holding a position because relaxing it would cost something she couldn’t afford. Her eyes were on the tablet but they weren’t moving. She was staring at the same page she’d been staring at when she b
