An empty seat. That's all I saw—an empty seat, pristine, commanding, and impossibly intimidating. I didn't notice when the door swung open or when my name floated into the room, soft and clipped—Mira Hale… Mira Hale.
My thoughts scattered, then snapped back with a jolt. My heart leapt, a wild drum in my chest. The world seemed to hold its breath. I rose slowly, smoothing the crease in my skirt, clenching my portfolio tighter. Each step was deliberate and precise, as though the rhythm of my movements alone could prove my worth. My nerves clawed at me, whispering betrayal, but I buried them deep.
The office swallowed me whole—high ceilings, polished surfaces, and lights that hovered between brilliance and shadow. The furniture gleamed like it had been sculpted, not assembled. Everything exuded control, power, and anticipation. And yet the seat was empty.
