Sierra had learned, over time, that offices had moods.
Not people, offices.
Some days the air felt brittle, like it might snap if someone laughed too loudly. Other days it hummed, low and busy, like an old refrigerator working overtime. Today sat somewhere in between.
She sat at her desk with her chair tipped back a fraction and stared at her monitor without really seeing the rows of text glowing back at her. Numbers. File names. Dates. All swimming together if she let them.
Funny, the things that came back to you when you least asked for them.
Intern. That was still the word attached to her name in the system. Intern Sierra H. like a tag she hadn't peeled off yet. She remembered her first week here so clearly it was almost embarrassing. How she'd eaten lunch in the stairwell because she didn't know where to sit. How she'd smiled too much, nodded too often, apologized for existing. Classic rookie moves.
And Amara.
Her mouth tilted upward before she could stop it.
