Debbie and Cindy walk down the hallway toward the cafeteria, the low hum of lunchtime conversations drifting through the open doors ahead.
Halfway there, Andrew appears from around the corner. He slows when he sees them.
"Ms. Ruiz," he says, in the tone of someone continuing a thought. "We have developments happening here in the company. Some of them potentially important. It would be quite helpful if you stayed a few hours past your designated time."
Debbie doesn't break stride. "Honestly, I have plans," she says. "I won't be able to help you."
Andrew blinks slightly. "Plans?" he repeats, as if the word needs clarification. "Will your plans be concluded by tomorrow?"
Debbie glances over at him. "Hard to say," she replies, her stare steady. "But I seriously doubt it."
Andrew seems to replay her words, like a student working through a problem.
"I do have a life, you know," she adds, almost as an afterthought.
He studies her for a moment, then gives a small, noncommittal nod. "Hm. I suppose so."
And just like that, he continues down the hallway.
Debbie watches him go for a moment, then turns to Cindy. "See?" she says quietly. "This is exactly what I mean."
Cindy doesn't answer. She just gives a small look that says she understands.
They continue toward the cafeteria.
The lunchroom is loud in the way places get when people are pretending they are no longer at work.
Conversations overlap. Laughter comes a little too quickly. Phones sit face down, but not forgotten. Microwaves beep. A vending machine coughs out someone's chips like it's doing them a personal favor.
Debbie and Cindy settle at their usual table.
Cindy sets out a lunch she didn't have time to think about. She carries the look of someone who's been holding a building upright for years and is only now realizing the building has been leaning on her.
Debbie sits across from her and opens a salad that looks like it cost too much.
A couple of people pass by.
"Hey, Deb. See you later?"
Debbie gives a small nod. "Yeah."
Cindy notices. Doesn't comment.
Debbie's eyes flick briefly to Cindy's hands. Still, folded.
"You okay?" Debbie asks.
Cindy gives a small shrug. "I'm fine."
Debbie smiles slightly. "That's not an answer."
Before Cindy can respond, a man slides into the seat beside Debbie like he belongs there.
Matt.
He looks like the kind of guy who mistakes urgency for charisma. His energy enters a room before he does. He carries a folder like it's a badge and wears confidence like it fits—even when it doesn't.
He nods at Debbie first, then Cindy. "Hey," he says. "You feel it? This place is ready."
Debbie sets her fork down. "Hey, yourself. I didn't know you were going to be here today."
Matt leans back, comfortable. "Relax. I was meeting someone."
Cindy says nothing.
Matt opens the folder just enough for it to feel official. "Things are moving."
Cindy's gaze flicks to the folder, then back to his face. "Moving how fast?"
Matt's smile tightens slightly. "Fast."
Debbie tilts her head, casual but alert. "Who were you meeting with?"
Matt doesn't hesitate. "Your boss. Andrew."
Debbie nods once, thinking back to the hallway encounter. "That tracks. I'm pretty sure I know how that conversation went."
Her tone shifts. "Where are we on numbers?"
Matt straightens a little. "Sixty-five percent," he says. "I'd like for us to be at seventy, at least. But we're basically ready."
Cindy's attention sharpens. "Ready for what?"
Matt doesn't hesitate. "For something better. People are talking. Actually talking. This isn't background noise anymore."
Cindy studies him. "People always talk."
"Not like this," Matt says. "This is different."
"Different how?"
Matt gestures loosely. "There's alignment. People are connecting the dots."
Cindy doesn't look convinced. "Dots have always been there."
Matt smiles slightly. "Yeah. But now people are actually drawing the lines themselves."
He taps the table lightly. "We're really close."
Debbie turns to Cindy. "We're not stuck doing things the way they've always been," she says, her voice soft but serious. "There is another way."
Cindy looks at Matt again, calm and precise. "You didn't come here for 'close.'"
"No," he says. "I came here for you."
Cindy watches him, still measuring. "And what exactly do you want with me?"
"We need you, Cindy," Matt says. "If we get you on board, we push this past seventy-five. Maybe eighty."
He leans in slightly. "And we need someone on the inside who understands how this place works. Someone people trust."
Cindy looks down at her hands. She hadn't planned on being a number. She hadn't planned on being this number.
Debbie watches her carefully now.
"Debbie," Cindy says quietly, "I've worked here longer than you've been tying your own shoes."
Debbie exhales, then answers, more gently. "That doesn't mean you have to accept everything. They aren't always right."
Cindy's gaze drops to her lunch.
"Cindy," Debbie says, softer now, "you know this is bigger than us being tired. This is about what happens next."
Cindy exhales slowly. "I know what it's about."
Matt tilts his head. "Do you?"
Cindy's eyes lift. Whatever she was holding back is gone now. "I'm not interested in being used as leverage."
Matt nods slowly, recalibrating. "That's not what this is."
"No? Because it damn sure feels like it."
Debbie's expression softens. Matt doesn't interrupt.
Cindy continues, quieter now. "I'm not…against anything. I'm just…"
She pauses, searching for the cleanest version of the truth. "I'm tired of being the solution to problems I didn't create."
Debbie nods slowly, her throat tight.
Matt's voice is calm when he speaks again. "That's why your name matters. People trust you. They watch you. If you stand up, they stand up."
Cindy looks at him. He can't read her.
The lunchroom noise swells again, like the world doesn't care that something important is happening at a corner table. Then Cindy's head tilts slightly. Her eyes shift over Debbie's shoulder.
Debbie follows her gaze. Across the lunchroom, through the glass wall that opens to the main hallway, someone walks past.
Selah.
Even at a distance, she's composed. Efficient. The kind of presence that changes the air without raising volume.
She slows slightly as she nears the entrance.
Cindy sees her and feels her own body react. Not dramatically. Not obviously. Just a faint tightening around her eyes. Gone almost instantly.
Matt follows Cindy's gaze.
He registers Selah before he names her. The way she moves through the hallway like it's already decided she belongs there.
Not what he expected. Not older. Not rigid. Not brittle. For a half-second, he lets himself look. Just long enough to lock it in.
"So that's Selah," Matt says, mostly to himself.
She doesn't step inside. She listens for a moment. Then she moves on.
Matt's eyes linger even after she's gone.
Debbie shifts beside him. "Easy, big boy." Her tone is knowing. Slightly sharp.
Matt blinks, exhales, looks back at the table. "Yeah. Right."
Cindy notices his expression. She's seen it before. Now she looks at him. Level.
"You've seen her for ten seconds," Cindy says, "and look at you."
Matt half-smiles, unsure if he's being teased.
Cindy doesn't smile. "You're already halfway wrapped around her finger," she continues. "And you expect me to turn on her after knowing her for years?"
The words land heavier than he expects.
"That's not what I—"
Cindy lifts a hand. "I know exactly what you're asking me to do. And I know exactly who you're asking me to do it to."
Debbie glances between them, aware she's watching something real.
Matt exhales, slower now. "I'm not asking you to turn on anyone."
Cindy tilts her head. "No. You're asking me to choose."
Silence settles.
"I need time," Cindy says.
Matt's smile returns, controlled. "We don't have much."
Cindy's eyes sharpen. "Then you should've asked sooner."
His smile falters.
Cindy gathers her things, then stands. Debbie rises with her, instinctively.
Matt stays seated.
"Cindy," Debbie says carefully, "there's another meeting tomorrow. After work."
Matt looks at her, surprised.
Debbie doesn't look away from Cindy. "Just listening. No pressure."
Cindy exhales slowly. "I'll try to keep my calendar open."
Debbie nods once. "Do what you need to do."