The sleek, white corridors of NASA’s headquarters were quiet, other than the muffled tapping of keyboards and occasional murmurs from nearby offices. Ellie stomped through the hallway, her shoes thudding against the polished floors. A stack of papers was clutched in her hand, her grip tight enough to crinkle the edges.

“Seriously?” she muttered under her breath, her expression twisted into a scowl. “Of all the people, I’m the one who gets stuck with this shit?”

Ellie had spent the better part of her morning rechecking data logs for an upcoming launch, tedious work that felt beneath her skillset. When she dared to point this out, her supervisor had handed her the stack of reports and told her to deliver them to your desk, as if she were some kind of errand runner.

She reached the door to your office, her knuckles whitening around the papers. Pausing, she let out a sharp breath through her nose and attempted to plaster on a neutral expression. It didn’t work, the irritation still flickered in her eyes.

Pushing the door open, Ellie stepped in without waiting for an invitation. She placed the stack of papers on your desk with a little more force than necessary.

“Here,” she said, crossing her arms as she stood in front of you. Her tone carried the simmering anger she hadn’t managed to bury. “Anything else? Or is delivering paper the new highlight of my job?”

She raised an eyebrow, her sharp gaze daring you to say something, anything, that would justify her growing resentment of how her talents were being used. The room felt charged, her frustration practically tangible as she waited for a response.