I didn't sleep, but I must have blacked out again, because when I blinked, Luc was already standing at the foot of the bed I didn't remember lying down in.
Where am I even? I thought I was sitting on my throne earlier. There's a bed in the office too?
Luc didn't comment on my confusion. She held out a suit that was black, high-collared, and tailored so sharply it could cut air. Without a word, she laid it on the edge of the mattress.
"I'm not wearing that," I muttered, sitting up slowly.
"It's the expected color of grief," she said without looking at me.
"I'm not grieving."
"I know."
That should've felt like comfort. It didn't.
The outfit fit well. Actually, it fit too perfectly as if someone knew every inch of measurement of my body. When I looked in the mirror, I didn't see myself. I saw a silhouette that I became.
Luc stepped behind me and adjusted the collar with a light and careful touch. There was something almost tender about it, like a tailor.
I didn't speak. I didn't want to hear what my voice would sound like in this costume.
Going out like this, seeing people, wearing this, talking to people, perhaps even squeezing out tears for the deaths of people I didn't know - it was wrong.
Nevertheless, we took the elevator down to the executive wing. The marble walls had veins of subtle gold, and our shoes clacked on the cold stone floor.
As soon as I stepped out, everyone stopped and looked my way.
A young man with a tablet, a woman with two phones, and a group of men and women standing around and chatting.
Everything stopped for them as what felt like my parade started.
Their silence wasn't a polite acknowledgment.
It was reverence.
"Good morning, Miss Lang," someone whispered just about loud enough for me to hear.
Luc walked a few steps ahead of me, and when I saw that everyone was bowing to me in a way that I've never been bowed to before in my life, I leaned forward and whispered,
"They're not bowing to me."
"They are," she said.
"They don't know who I am."
"They don't need to," Luc replied calmly.
As we turned a corner, a man in his forties stepped aside and said softly, "Welcome, Miss Lang."
I nearly stopped walking at the sheer weight of respect that anchored his voice.
Luc sensed my unease. "They're grateful," she said. "For your presence."
I didn't say anything else.
As we arrived at the staff cafeteria, I saw that long white tables were set up, sparsely decorated with lilies and folded black napkins. No one was eating.
There were hundreds of employees inside. All seated in uniform lines like a silent congregation.
As I entered, a murmur swept across the room like wind through dry leaves. Heads turned. Forks were set down. Conversations died mid-sentence.
Luc leaned in. "Public relations requested a brief walkthrough. You don't need to speak. Just walk slowly. Stop once or twice. Make eye contact."
"I can't do this," I whispered. "I'm not their savior."
"You will be," she replied, quieter now, almost gently.
I stepped into the light.
There's something awful about silence that's too respectful. Like a room full of people holding their breath. Watching to see if you'll break first.
I kept my eyes down at first. The floor was impossibly clean. I could see my reflection in it, like a shadow cast in glass.
Someone stood up near the front. A woman. Young. Clutching something in her hands.
I froze.
She approached slowly, as if afraid she might wake me. When she reached me, she held out a small paper crane that was folded neatly, carefully, in plain white copy paper.
"For luck," she said, her voice shaking. "You're our future now."
I didn't take it right away.
My hands were trembling. I didn't know what would happen if I touched it. If the lie would collapse. If everything would unravel and I'd be dragged out of the building screaming.
But I took it.
The woman exhaled. Something between relief and awe flickered in her eyes.
Behind her, someone clapped. Just once.
And then another one followed, and another.
Soft, rhythmic applause started to fill the room.
It felt like a ritual performance that was both a farewell and a welcome.
All I could think was that I shouldn't be here receiving all this.
When I returned to the office, I peeled the jacket off. The impossibly light and comfortable fabric felt heavy as lead now. My skin felt damp, not from sweat, but from a layer of shame for pretending.
Luc was already standing near the desk as if all that happened just before was merely a daily routine. She held her tablet in one hand, tapped the screen once, then looked up as I entered the office from what I now knew to be a little sort of a 'bedroom' for me to rest, joined to this massive office.
"You did well. The staff responded positively," she said.
I collapsed into the chair while still holding the jacket in one hand.
"That girl gave me a paper crane."
Luc nodded. "It's a nice symbol for hope and healing. Very appropriate."
"She said I was their future," I stared at my shoes.
"You are," Luc replied matter-of-factly. "You're the heir to Lang. This is your place now."
I sat up slightly. "I didn't—"
Luc turned toward me before I could finish. Her voice wasn't stern, but firm. "Miss Lang, you have every right to be here."
"I never said I was—" I began again, more softly this time.
She set the tablet down gently. "It's alright," she said, tone easing. "You've had a difficult week. Everyone understands that. You don't have to explain yourself."
I closed my mouth, unsure how to continue. Every time I reached for the truth, the words felt clumsy in my throat.
Luc poured me another glass of water and placed it beside the paper crane, saying nothing more.
I looked up at her, wanting to say "This isn't me", but she was already at the window, tapping something into her tablet.
Maybe it wasn't worth saying anymore.