The campaign headquarters did not feel like a beginning.
It felt like a place that had already been moving long before Iris arrived, and would continue moving even if she disappeared.
By the time Lolita brought her through the glass doors, the office was already alive with noise. Phones rang from every corner. Printers coughed out stacks of paper. Volunteers hurried past with boxes of bottled water, tarpaulins, and folders stamped with names Iris did not recognize. On one wall, a large photo of Evelyn smiled down at everyone with practiced warmth, her slogan printed in bold letters beneath her face.
Iris stood near the entrance with her old duffel bag in hand, suddenly aware of how small it looked beside the polished floor and bright campaign posters.
"Don't stand there," Lolita said, not unkindly, but not gently either. "People pass through that area."
"Oh." Iris stepped aside immediately. "Sorry."
Lolita glanced at the bag. "You can leave that in the staff room for now. There are extra mats if you need to sleep here tonight. It's not comfortable, but it's free."
"Thank you," Iris said.
"You'll thank me after the campaign if you still have your sanity."
Iris did not know if that was a joke, so she only smiled.
Lolita led her through the narrow path between desks, pointing quickly as they walked. "That's logistics. That's media. That table handles provincial schedules. Don't touch anything unless someone tells you to. If someone asks you to bring something, bring it. If someone asks you to wait, wait. If someone asks you to listen, listen. But don't repeat anything outside this building."
Iris nodded, trying to remember everything.
"Am I assigned to a specific team?" she asked.
"For now?" Lolita looked back at her. "You're a runner."
The word landed quietly.
Runner.
It was not a bad word. It was work. Honest work. Paid work. The first real job she had ever been given. Iris told herself she should be grateful.
And she was.
But some part of her, the foolish part that still believed leaving the orphanage meant stepping into a wider world, had imagined something less invisible.
Lolita stopped near a long table covered in folders. "Start by sorting these by district. After that, someone from field operations may ask you to help with tomorrow's event."
"What event?"
"Testing. Dry run. Something with the counting machines." Lolita waved a hand as if the details were too far above both of them to matter. "The Poll Commission people, election officials, politicians, tech company executives, the usual important crowd. Evelyn's team needs bodies there."
"Bodies?"
"Staff." Lolita smiled thinly. "People who can carry things and look useful."
Iris looked down at her hands.
She had carried laundry baskets, sleeping children, grocery bags, broken chairs, and the weight of goodbye. Carrying folders for politicians should have been easier.
"Okay," she said.
Lolita studied her for a moment, perhaps expecting hesitation. When none came, she nodded toward the table.
"Good. Then start there."
Iris placed her duffel bag beneath a chair and reached for the first folder.
Around her, the campaign continued to move.
No one asked where she came from.
No one asked what she had left behind.
No one asked if she was ready.
So Iris did what she had always done when the world gave her no space to be afraid.
She made herself useful.
------------
By the next morning, Iris had learned three things about campaign work: orders changed quickly, sleep was optional, and people only remembered your name when they needed something done.
Her first assignment outside headquarters brought her to a secured compound where the automated counting machines would be tested before the election season officially swallowed the country whole.
Lolita called it a dry run.
The campaign manager called it a transparency event.
The security guards at the entrance called it restricted access.
To Iris, it looked like a building where everyone important was allowed inside and everyone else waited near the doors with folders in their arms.