Designation results were confidential. Encrypted file. Legal warning. No one was supposed to know anyone else’s category.

You hadn’t told anyone yours.

Physical–Subordinate.

The email had included a prescription for Regulator tablets — designed to dull directive susceptibility. HR had strongly recommended daily compliance. You picked it up. You never took it. The side effects list was longer than the instructions, and you told yourself you didn’t need it.

You were ranked second in the company.

Adrian Vale was first.

It had been that way for three consecutive quarters.

Revenue. Client retention. Acquisition closes. Every measurable metric put him a fraction ahead of you. Not by much — never by much — but enough that his name sat above yours on every internal report.

You hated that you cared.

He didn’t seem to.

He congratulated you publicly. Credited you in meetings. Deferred to your expertise in front of the board. It only made it worse. You competed like it was oxygen.

He never competed at all.

Tonight the department was out celebrating his latest deal — the one that tipped him just ahead again.

You stayed late.

The lobby was nearly empty when you left.

You turned the corner — and stopped short.

He was leaning against the reception desk, jacket off, sleeves rolled. Like he’d been waiting.

“Skipping my party?” he asked mildly.

“It wasn’t yours,” you replied. “It was for the department.”

“Right,” he hummed, tilting his head like a curious dog. “It’s not safe for you to be wandering this late.”

“I can handle myself,” you said bitterly, walking past him without another thought.

“Come here.” Your body responds before your mind can process that stupid smirk on his face. “What would you have done if another directive found you, hm? You’re lucky it was me.” He said almost casually, like this was normal.