Amara learned very quickly that knowing the future didn't make things easier.
It made everything heavier.
She moved through the office like someone wearing a secret under her skin. Same heels. Same posture. Same polite smile. No one would guess that every laugh from Alexander now sounded rehearsed, every glance from Selene calculated.
They were already moving pieces. Slowly. Carefully. Just like before.
This time, Amara noticed.
She noticed how Selene started sitting in meetings she had no business attending. How Alexander stopped copying her on certain emails. How decisions she once made alone were suddenly being "reviewed."
Small things. Innocent-looking things.
The kind of things that came before disaster.
Amara didn't confront anyone. She didn't change her tone or raise her voice. She did what she'd failed to do in her first life.
She watched.
At night, when the city went quiet, Amara worked.
Not dramatically. Not recklessly.
She copied files one by one. Financial models. Client strategies. Emails that showed timelines, decisions, approvals. She didn't rush. Rushing left traces.
She labeled nothing suspicious. No obvious folders. No emotional names. Just dull, boring titles no one would ever open twice.
She uploaded them slowly, from different networks, at different hours.
Then she did something smarter.
She memorized patterns.
Which client trusted Alexander blindly. Which executive repeated Selene's words like they were gospel. Who looked away when contracts changed without explanation.
Information was power. Memory was protection.
And silence was survival.
Midweek, she resigned.
Not dramatically. No speech. No accusations.
Just a calm email sent at 9:17 a.m.
I've decided to step away and pursue something new. I'll assist with a smooth transition.
Alexander called her into his office ten minutes later.
"You're serious?" he asked, leaning back like this amused him.
"Yes."
"No counteroffer? No discussion?"
Amara smiled politely. "I don't think this needs one."
He studied her longer than necessary. There was curiosity there. Suspicion. But also relief.
Selene would be happy, Amara knew. Selene wanted her gone — quietly, cleanly, with nothing in her hands.
Alexander finally nodded. "All right. Two weeks."
Amara agreed and walked out.
She didn't tell him she already knew those two weeks were dangerous.
She didn't tell him she didn't plan to be vulnerable again.
That Friday, Amara attended a small company dinner. Casual. Dim lights. Laughter that sounded too loud.
She felt it then — the same feeling she'd ignored the first time.
A tightening in her chest. A sense of being watched too closely.
Selene sat across from her, swirling wine, smiling too much.
"You look lighter," Selene said. "Like you've let go."
Amara laughed softly. "Maybe I have."
Alexander watched the exchange without joining in.
In her first life, this was where it began to slide downhill. The friendliness. The false calm. The sense that everything was fine right before it wasn't.
This time, Amara excused herself early.
She didn't walk home. She took a longer route. Changed streets. Watched reflections in glass windows. Made sure no one followed.
Only when she locked her door did she exhale.
They weren't acting yet.
But they were close.
Amara sat on the edge of her bed, shoes still on, staring at the city lights.
A week.
That was all the time she had before everything went wrong in her first life.
She pressed a hand to her chest, steadying her breath.
"I won't be trapped again," she whispered. "Not quietly. Not foolishly."
She didn't feel powerful yet. She wasn't untouchable. She was still learning.
But this time, she was awake.
And that alone changed everything.
Amara checking her phone one last time before sleeping.