Amara woke up with the uneasy feeling that something had shifted.
Not dramatically. Not enough to set off alarms. Just enough to make the air feel heavier.
She went through her routine slowly that morning—coffee, shower, choosing clothes with more care than usual. She avoided anything too noticeable. Neutral colors. Nothing that said I'm leaving or I'm planning something.
In her first life, this was the week everything tightened.
This time, she was paying attention.
By midday, the changes became clearer.
Meetings she was supposed to attend were suddenly "rescheduled."
Emails went unanswered.
Her access to one internal system briefly disappeared—then reappeared as if nothing had happened.
When she asked IT, they shrugged.
"Must've been a glitch."
Glitches didn't happen this neatly.
She didn't argue. She thanked them and walked away, pulse steady, mind racing.
They were narrowing her space.
Not firing her.
Not confronting her.
Isolating her.
The call came just after lunch.
Alexander.
"Can you stop by the old branch office later?" he asked casually. "There are some documents we need your clarification on."
The old branch office.
Her fingers tightened around the phone.
In her first life, she had gone. Alone. Trusting. Confused.
She had never come back the same.
"I'll see if I can," she said evenly. "Send me the details."
"Of course," he replied, smooth as ever. "It shouldn't take long."
The call ended.
Amara didn't move for a long moment.
Then she exhaled—slow, controlled.
So it's starting.
She didn't refuse outright. That would raise questions.
Instead, she did something quieter.
She forwarded the meeting location to a colleague she trusted under the excuse of shared files.
She scheduled a call with an external contact for the same hour.
She turned on location sharing—something she had never done before.
Tiny threads of safety.
Then, at the last minute, she didn't go to the old office.
She went to a café across the street.
From there, she watched.
The building looked harmless. Empty, mostly. Renovations had been "delayed."
She watched Alexander arrive.
Then Selene.
Together.
Her stomach tightened, but her face remained calm.
In her first life, she had walked straight into that building believing she was going to talk about paperwork.
Now, watching them stand there, waiting, checking their phones, glancing around—
She understood.
This wasn't about documents.
It never had been.
After twenty minutes, Selene's smile slipped. Alexander made a call. Amara's phone buzzed.
Where are you?
She didn't answer.
Instead, she finished her coffee, paid calmly, and left through the back entrance.
That evening, Alexander sent a short message.
Let's reschedule. Today was hectic.
Selene didn't text at all.
Amara sat on her couch, lights off, city glowing outside the windows.
Her hands trembled—not with fear, but with the delayed realization of how close she'd been.
If she hadn't remembered.
If she hadn't changed one decision.
If she had trusted them one last time—
She swallowed hard.
"They would've killed me again," she whispered.
That night, something inside Amara settled.
This wasn't just about revenge anymore.
This was about survival.
She opened her laptop and began reorganizing everything—plans, timelines, people. Not aggressively. Not emotionally.
Strategically.
If they were willing to end her life, then she was done playing small.
But she would still play smart.
Amara woke up with the uneasy feeling that something had shifted.
Not dramatically. Not enough to set off alarms. Just enough to make the air feel heavier.
She went through her routine slowly that morning—coffee, shower, choosing clothes with more care than usual. She avoided anything too noticeable. Neutral colors. Nothing that said I'm leaving or I'm planning something.
In her first life, this was the week everything tightened.
This time, she was paying attention.
By midday, the changes became clearer.
Meetings she was supposed to attend were suddenly "rescheduled."
Emails went unanswered.
Her access to one internal system briefly disappeared—then reappeared as if nothing had happened.
When she asked IT, they shrugged.
"Must've been a glitch."
Glitches didn't happen this neatly.
She didn't argue. She thanked them and walked away, pulse steady, mind racing.
They were narrowing her space.
Not firing her.
Not confronting her.
Isolating her.
The call came just after lunch.
Alexander.
"Can you stop by the old branch office later?" he asked casually. "There are some documents we need your clarification on."
The old branch office.
Her fingers tightened around the phone.
In her first life, she had gone. Alone. Trusting. Confused.
She had never come back the same.
"I'll see if I can," she said evenly. "Send me the details."
"Of course," he replied, smooth as ever. "It shouldn't take long."
The call ended.
Amara didn't move for a long moment.
Then she exhaled—slow, controlled.
So it's starting.
She didn't refuse outright. That would raise questions.
Instead, she did something quieter.
She forwarded the meeting location to a colleague she trusted under the excuse of shared files.
She scheduled a call with an external contact for the same hour.
She turned on location sharing—something she had never done before.
Tiny threads of safety.
Then, at the last minute, she didn't go to the old office.
She went to a café across the street.
From there, she watched.
The building looked harmless. Empty, mostly. Renovations had been "delayed."
She watched Alexander arrive.
Then Selene.
Together.
Her stomach tightened, but her face remained calm.
In her first life, she had walked straight into that building believing she was going to talk about paperwork.
Now, watching them stand there, waiting, checking their phones, glancing around—
She understood.
This wasn't about documents.
It never had been.
After twenty minutes, Selene's smile slipped. Alexander made a call. Amara's phone buzzed.
Where are you?
She didn't answer.
Instead, she finished her coffee, paid calmly, and left through the back entrance.
That evening, Alexander sent a short message.
Let's reschedule. Today was hectic.
Selene didn't text at all.
Amara sat on her couch, lights off, city glowing outside the windows.
Her hands trembled—not with fear, but with the delayed realization of how close she'd been.
If she hadn't remembered.
If she hadn't changed one decision.
If she had trusted them one last time—
She swallowed hard.
"They would've killed me again," she whispered.
That night, something inside Amara settled.
This wasn't just about revenge anymore.
This was about survival.
She opened her laptop and began reorganizing everything—plans, timelines, people. Not aggressively. Not emotionally.
Strategically.
If they were willing to end her life, then she was done playing small.
But she would still play smart.