ELENA
The office smelled like laminate flooring and cheap ambition.
“This one just came available last week,” the realtor said brightly, her heels clicking across the polished concrete as she waved toward the wall of glass-fronted cubicles. “Lots of natural light, open floor plan, pre-installed cable and ethernet—plus, we’ve got a breakroom that could easily be converted into a kitchenette with just a little vision.”
I nodded politely, trying to stay engaged. Behind her, Aiden spun slowly in a dusty office chair someone had left behind, his feet barely brushing the floor. He tilted his head back as he turned, staring at the ceiling tiles like they might offer salvation.
“Can we go yet?” he groaned.
“Soon,” I said, forcing a smile.
He groaned again, more dramatically this time, and le
