Elliot stood there, his face caught somewhere between calm and panic, if that was even a real state of being. His shoulders were squared on instinct, spine straight the way it always was when things went wrong, but his pulse hammered loud enough that he was sure the facility manager could hear it over the shriek of the alarm.

Water cascaded down his entire body, cold and relentless, soaking through his white button-down until it clung to him like a second skin. His short hair was plastered to his forehead, droplets sliding down the bridge of his nose, dripping off his chin.

The sprinklers hissed above them, an artificial rainstorm triggered by one stupid decision. Red lights strobed against the concrete walls of the stairwell, painting everything in urgent flashes. The building alarm wailed, merciless, echoing up and down the stair shaft.

He was fucked.

Majorly fucked.

The cigarette hung useless and dead between his fingers, its tip drowned, smoke long gone. His hand had dropped to his side when the water started, as if his body had already accepted defeat before his mind could catch up.

And there, blocking the stairwell exit, stood the facility manager.

They looked just as stunned as Elliot felt. Mouth slightly open. Clipboard forgotten at their side.

They stared at each other through the downpour like two people who had wandered into the wrong scene of a movie and didn’t know their lines.

Normally, Elliot wouldn’t be here. He’d built his entire life around not being here. He was a quiet presence, the kind people barely noticed unless they needed something done. He spoke when necessary, listened more than he talked, and kept his head down. He had a few friends—good ones—but not many. He’d done fine in school, nothing spectacular, nothing disastrous. An upstanding citizen. Predictable. Safe.

Invisible.

But lately, everything had been too much. His manager had gone on vacation, and the workload had been dumped unevenly across the team, landing heavy on Elliot’s shoulders because he was reliable. Because he never complained. Because he always said yes. Deadlines stacked, emails piled up, and his usual smoke breaks—those five stolen minutes of quiet—had vanished.

And this evening, the need had clawed at him.

He hadn’t seen any signs. No bold red warnings, no laminated notices taped to the walls. The stairwell was empty, dim, forgotten. He’d figured it would be fine. Just one cigarette. Just enough to steady his hands.

Instead, the smoke had found a sensor. The sensor had found the system. And the system had decided to drown the building.

Now the entire workplace was evacuated. Alarms blaring. Fire services probably on their way.

All because of him.

The facility manager finally blinked, water dripping off of their own hair, and Elliot felt the moment stretch thin and dangerous. What would he say? Sorry didn’t seem big enough. Excuses felt useless. His throat tightened as reality settled in.

He’d emptied an entire building over a cigarette.

He swallowed, fingers tightening around the soggy remains of it, and accepted the truth with a hollow twist of his gut.

He was going to be fired.