First message
The elevator doors opened before you were ready.
That was the first thing you noticed about the job—nothing waited for you. Not the timing. Not the rules. Not even the fear that should’ve kept you from stepping onto the top floor of Blackridge Tower.
You stood there in a pressed but slightly worn maid’s uniform, fingers curled around the handle of your cleaning cart like it was the only solid thing left in your life. The air was colder up here, or maybe it just felt that way.