Aurelia Thorne leaned back in her ergonomic chair, letting her gaze wander over the sunlit cityscape through the floor-to-ceiling windows of her office. The Eastside redevelopment project stretched across her mind, its blueprint resting neatly on her polished desk. Beside it, the black tile sat innocuously, catching the sunlight in faint silver veins that reminded her of trapped lightning. She had promised herself she wouldn't touch it again tonight, and yet… curiosity lingered.
"Where is Victor when you need him?" she muttered, shaking her head as she rifled through folders. The soft hum of the computers mingled with the distant city noise, making her office feel both alive and strangely lonely.
Victor appeared in the doorway just then, balancing a mug of coffee. "You called?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
"You might as well be invisible," Aurelia replied, half-smiling. "I've got blueprints, budgets, and a relic that refuses to leave my thoughts. Is that too much for one person?"
Victor chuckled, setting the coffee down on her desk. "Well, some people thrive under pressure. You, apparently, suffer dramatically under it."
"Dramatically is the only way to describe me," she said, tapping the edge of the tile with her fingernail. It remained impossibly cold, even in the warmth of the office. She glanced at Victor, who stared with mild concern. "Don't tell me I'm the only one who notices the odd weight of it. It feels… wrong, somehow."
Victor shrugged. "Maybe it's just a very heavy paperweight?"
She rolled her eyes, though the corner of her mouth twitched. "Very funny."
A soft chime from her phone pulled her attention. It was a call from Aunt Isolde. Aurelia's stomach tightened—a mixture of respect, duty, and subtle unease. She answered on speaker, letting the familiar voice fill the room.
"Aurelia, are the Eastside blueprints finalized?" Isolde's tone was polished, smooth, but carried the subtle weight of expectation.
"Yes, Aunt Isolde. Everything's accounted for. I've double-checked the layouts and reinforced the zoning projections," Aurelia replied, keeping her tone even, professional.
"Good. Remember, the investors will be here next week. I trust you're maintaining oversight of the team?"
"I am," Aurelia assured her, glancing at Victor, who gave a small nod of affirmation. "Victor's keeping everyone in line while I handle the design elements. We're on schedule."
"Very well," Isolde said. "Keep me updated. I expect nothing less than perfection, Aurelia. You've inherited more than just responsibility—you've inherited a legacy." The line clicked dead, leaving Aurelia staring at the phone, thinking about the subtle undertones in her aunt's words. Legacy. Duty. Pressure.
Victor raised a brow. "Everything okay?"
She let out a short, wry laugh. "As okay as it can be when your aunt reminds you that you're supposed to run a company someday, even if you'd rather dig through ruins than sit behind a desk."
Victor grinned. "Archaeologist by heart, CEO by bloodline. Classic Thorne."
Aurelia smirked, feeling a little lighter. For a moment, the tension in her shoulders eased. She moved to pour herself a cup of coffee, spilling a few drops on the edge of the desk. "See? Catastrophe follows me everywhere," she joked, grabbing a paper towel to clean up.
Victor leaned casually against her desk. "At least it's just coffee this time. Could be worse. Could be acid."
"Thanks for the reassurance," she said, rolling her eyes, though a faint laugh escaped her. The small moments of humor reminded her that despite all the pressure, she wasn't entirely alone.
Her gaze drifted back to the black tile. Even in the warm lamplight, it seemed impossibly cold, almost waiting. A flicker of unease passed through her. She reminded herself again: don't touch it. Yet her fingers hovered over it, drawn inexplicably.
A notification pinged on her computer—a news alert about a recent land acquisition on the Eastside, near one of her excavation sites. She frowned, leaning closer. The article mentioned a high-profile company expanding its shares in the area. She couldn't help but feel that someone, somewhere, was watching the project closely. The hair on her arms prickled.
Victor followed her gaze. "You still thinking about the acquisition?" he asked.
Aurelia nodded slowly. "It's… interesting timing. Almost too convenient." She paused, shaking her head. "I'll focus on what I can control. For now."
The rest of the afternoon slipped by with steady work, team coordination, and scattered bursts of light-hearted joking between her and Victor. They discussed minor mishaps with equipment, laughed at a misprinted blueprint, and shared subtle quips that made the tension of the workday bearable. Yet beneath it all, a faint hum of unease lingered.
Aurelia couldn't shake the feeling that threads were pulling her toward something—something she didn't yet understand. Something that tied her past to the present in ways she couldn't explain. The black tile sat on her desk, innocuous yet threatening, a quiet reminder that her life was far from ordinary.
And as she left the office that evening, gathering her belongings and shutting down her computer, she felt the weight of responsibility pressing on her shoulders. Tomorrow would bring more decisions, more plans, and perhaps, answers she wasn't yet ready to face.