The next morning, something stood at the foot of Nicole’s bed.
Tall and dense, its body black in a way that swallowed the light from the overhead lamp. Two white points sat on a face where eyes should have been. She heard her drawer opening slowly, and the sound of hands rifling through her things. Like it knew what it was looking for.
Nicole jolted up in her bed.
The thing turned its head toward her. Then it thinned. Almost dissolved. Its body flattened into shadow, blending with the dark until there was no shape left to mark where it’d stood.
Nicole’s jaw clenched so tight her molars ached.
She sat upright in bed. Her heart hammered so hard she thought that she might pass out. Early morning light leaked through her blinds.
She steadied her breathing. A waking dream.
The magnesium bottle sat on her nightstand, cap off. Chalky tablets inside, pale and harmless-looking. “For relaxation,” the label promised in black letters.
The thing in the dream had been touching her desk drawer. The only thing in there was the Bloomwell welcome kit: the canvas tote, the notebook, and her ID badge. In the dream, its fingers had hovered over the badge like it was deciding whether or not to take it.
Nicole swallowed.
The nightmares had started the same week she’d begun the supplements. She had googled “Bloomwell magnesium ” at three in the morning two nights ago and found an online forum. One woman had written, It felt like something was in the room with me.
She stood on legs that felt rubbery, the floor unsteady under bare feet, and crossed into the bathroom. The mirror showed her a version of herself that looked slightly possessed. Hair wild at the crown. Eyes fevered. She looked like someone who had been running.
She flipped on the light.
Nothing moved behind her in the reflection.
She opened the trash can and tossed the supplement.
She paused for a moment, looking at her jaw in the mirror.
A large scratch ran from her ear to her mouth.
Adrian appeared at Nicole’s cubicle wall midmorning, leaning over it with a sly smile.
“You still waiting on access for the operational view?” he asked.
“I emailed,” she said.
“You don’t need to email,” he said. “I can get you in.”
He stepped around her chair before she could answer.
“Okay.”
His arm passed near her collarbone as he reached for the keyboard. He started clicking around.
She watched him. The curve of his mouth, the heat of his body close enough to touch. Her thoughts scattered.
She’d been avoiding him since the kiss; keeping conversations short and leaving rooms first. Not because she didn’t feel anything, but because she hadn’t decided if it were appetite or attachment.
“So, what do you actually want here?” he asked after a while.
She glanced up at him. “What?”
“Long-term. You planning on sitting in A12 forever?”
The question made her sit up straighter.
“I just started,” she fumbled.
“So?” he shrugged. “Experience is baseline at Bloomwell. What they’re really watching for is alignment.”
Another click. A quick message to someone.
“They want people who believe in the mission. Who don’t treat this like a stepping stone.”
The dashboard refreshed.
Full access.
“There,” he said softly.
“Thanks.”
He looked at her. “I started on this floor five years ago,” he said. “It’s not hard to move up, depending on how hard you work for it.”
“If you’re serious,” he added, “I can introduce you to Katrina.”
The screen changed, and something inside Nicole changed with it. A sudden expansion. The intoxicating feeling of being seen as capable of more.
“I could help you,” he said. “If you need a recommendation in the future.”
“I’d like that,” she said. “I want to do well.”
“You will,” he replied. “With the right leverage.”
His hand rested briefly on the back of her chair before he stepped away.
Nicole watched him go.
She’d been pulling away from someone who was actively offering her something.
Maybe she didn’t need to overthink whether it went deeper.
Maybe it was enough that he wanted her. And that he wanted her to succeed, to live up to her true potential. Maybe even believed in her.
The expanded dashboard glowed in front of her.
Relief washed over her first.
Then desire.
The email arrived an hour later.
SUBJECT: Team Update: Lila Thompson
Dear Team,
We want to share that Lila Thompson has decided to pursue another opportunity and will no longer be with Bloomwell, effective immediately.
We are grateful for the contributions she made during her time here and appreciate the dedication she brought to her role.
In the meantime, we will share additional details regarding coverage and transition plans as they are finalized.
Best,
Human Resources @ Bloomwell
That was all.
Nicole blinked at it.
Lila left no goodbye message. No email saying “today is my last day.” The HR notice landed with the stiff politeness of a templated letter, as if Lila had been gone longer than anyone realized.
Then, the embarrassment overpowered the confusion. Nicole had thought they were building a work friendship. They’d shared lunches and jokes. Lila always made sure to include her in happy hours and work events.
Still, she left without saying a word to her.
Maybe Nicole had imagined the closeness.
She got up and started asking around. First, at Lauren’s cubicle, knocking on the fabric-lined panel.
“Do you know when Lila quit?”
A shrug. “Not sure.”
And at Adrian’s office: “Did she tell you she was leaving?”
“I dunno. These things happen fast.”
No one seemed shocked or bothered. The indifference hit Nicole harder than the actual news. Bloomwell felt suddenly cold in a way she hadn’t prepared for.
At lunch, Nicole stepped outside and scanned the benches along the courtyard wall.
She told herself she wasn’t looking for anyone in particular. Her eyes still moved straight to Peter.
He sat near the far end, one foot hooked around the bench leg, his container balanced loosely in one hand. The space next to him was open.
Nicole crossed the courtyard before she could overthink it and sat down.
He glanced at her, smiled. “Hey.”
“Hey. Did you see that email?” she asked.
“ Lila?” His jaw tightened slightly. “Didn’t see that one coming.”
He didn’t elaborate.
Nicole waited.
Peter scraped his fork through his food. “That’s the third ‘chosen to pursue another opportunity’ this quarter.”
She looked at him. “You’re counting?”
“I pay attention.”
The wind shifted across the courtyard, lifting a strands of his hair across his face. He pushed it away from his face.
“High turnover?” she asked.
He shrugged. “They make it sound voluntary,” he said. “Maybe it is. Maybe it isn’t. Either way, it’s convenient.”
Convenient?
“Mara’s taking it hard,” he said.
Nicole’s eyes drifted to the woman sitting on the bench a few yards away from them. Mara sat on a bench with her shoulders rounded, her sandwich still wrapped in plastic. She slid it into her lunch bag, then stood without looking up.
“I was thinking,” Peter added after a moment, “maybe we invite her to sit with us next time.”
Nicole nodded. “Yeah. We should.”
Mara vanished into the building.
Nicole looked at Peter.
He was still watching the doors.
A quiet stretched. The air felt different without Lila around.
Nicole reached for her phone. “I’ll text her.”
“You think she’ll respond?”
“I don’t know,” she said.
Her thumb hovered for a second before she typed.
Hey. I just saw the email. Are you okay?
She hit send.
Peter watched her.
“We should keep each other’s numbers. Outside of Bloomwell.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know, in case HR decides you don’t exist anymore.”
The comment sat between them, matter-of-fact.
She told him.
He saved it to his phone. A second later her phone buzzed with a new contact.
Peter.
She tried not to let that register too loudly inside her chest.
“If Lila answers,” he added, “let me know.”
She nodded.
When he finally stood, he didn’t look toward the building immediately. He looked at her.
“Be careful,” he said quietly.
“About what?”
“Just… pay attention.”
They walked back toward Quad 2 together. Inside, the air felt cooler.
She stopped with Peter by his office when her phone buzzed.
A Slack notification from #announcements.
Reminder: As part of our transition process, please refrain from contacting former employees directly. All communication should be routed through HR.
Nicole stared at it.
The timestamp read one minute ago.
The office around her hummed. Keyboards typed. Voices murmured low. The regular rhythm of a workday at Bloomwell.
Her stomach lurched.
She glanced toward Peter’s desk.
He was already looking at her.
He didn’t smile.