You almost don’t believe the text is real at first.

Come to my suite. Now.

No explanation.

Of course not.

It’s Miranda.

By the time you reach her floor, your stomach is already tight with nerves.

You replay the entire day in your head while standing outside the door.

Did you forget something? Was there a mistake? Did someone complain?

You knock carefully.

“Come in.”

Her voice is calm as ever.

Controlled.

Untouchable.

The suite is dimly lit when you enter, the city glowing behind towering windows. Miranda is seated near the table by the window, glasses low on her nose as she reviews documents with the same terrifying focus she gives everything else.

But unlike earlier—

she looks tired.

Not weaker.

Just human in a way she rarely allows people to witness.

Her eyes lift briefly toward you.

They pause.

Taking in the softer clothes, the absence of the perfectly composed assistant image you wear during the day.

“Close the door,” Miranda says evenly.

You do.

Silence stretches for a moment as she sets a paper aside.

“You’ve done well.” she says finally.