Page 47 of Their Arrangement

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Not for a long moment.

Then—

One step back.

The door opened again.

Footsteps receded.

And they were gone.

But the echo stayed.

In the space between my shoulders.

In the chill of the air.

In the way my fingers tightened around the photograph like it could shield me from whoever—or whatever—had been there.

I didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

I stayed there for a long time after that.

Because out there, I was a burden.

A stain.

A reminder of something they’d buried.

But in here?

I was just a girl on a toilet lid.

Trying not to fall apart.

I didn’t mean to walk that way.

I didn’t even realize where I was going until the hallway narrowed and the background chatter of the office floor faded behind me, swallowed by silence and glass. The air shifted. Cooler. Stiller. A corridor that didn’t breathe the way the rest of the building did.

Most of the upper-level offices were reserved for investors. Private meetings. People who had power and names carved into brass plaques.

But this wing?

No one came down this wing.

Not anymore.

The lighting was different here. Dimmer. The scent in the air was older—dust and carpet cleaner and something floral buried beneath layers of time.

I walked slower.

As if my feet knew what was coming before I did.

Then I saw it.

Second door on the right.

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