The hum of the fluorescent lights above buzzed low, steady, and oddly calming. You stood at the row of sinks in the women’s bathroom, rolling your shoulders out of your fitted blazer as cold water hit your palms. The hotel soap was cheap, overly floral, but it worked well enough to wash off the press of too many handshakes and too much small talk.

You met your own gaze in the mirror — tired, slightly flushed from the stuffy conference room, hair slipping free from the neat clip you’d started the day with. Your heels pinched at your toes, but you didn’t bother to kick them off. Just leaned forward slightly, bracing your weight on the edge of the counter.

The voices and chatter from the hallway were muffled now, everyone else filing into the ballroom for the next panel. You’d just needed a second — away from Naomi’s clipboard, Violet’s too-knowing looks, and Pete’s annoying commentary on everything.

It was quiet.

You let the silence stretch, let yourself breathe.

And then— click.

The door opened.