Funny how evenings stretch longer when you're already half out the door. Amara had her bag slung on her shoulder, fingers grazing the light switch by her desk, mentally humming that tiny I'm-free-finally victory jingle she always sang to herself at the end of a workday when the phone on her desk started ringing like it was possessed.
Of course it was her boss.
For a half-second, she considered pretending she didn't hear it. Just to see how it felt. Just to taste rebellion for once. But that man's voice had the uncanny ability to echo even when he wasn't present, and she could already imagine that flat, disappointed tone he used whenever someone broke a rule they didn't even know existed.
So she answered.
"Yes, Mr. Dravik?"
"Come to my office."
Three words. No explanation. No greeting. No anything.
