Nadia stepped into Herald building just as the janitor was finishing his sweep. The fluorescent lights flickered to life above her, casting long shadows across the quiet, open floor. Her heels clicked softly against the tiles, echoing louder than she intended. She paused, glancing at the older man with the mop who nodded in silent greeting. She recognized him—Gabriel, wasn't it? The man who hummed old blues songs while he worked and always left a small chocolate on her desk on Fridays.
"Early today, Ms. Brown" he said, leaning against his mop handle. His eyes, crinkled at the edges, held a gentle concern. "Everything alright?"
She forced a smile. "Just getting a head start. Big day."
He nodded knowingly, though she knew he couldn't possibly know. Nobody did.
She hadn't slept much.
Her eyes were swollen and raw, testimony to the tears that had flowed unceasingly throughout the night. Though her relationship with Bryan had never quite matched the vision she'd harbored in her heart, his absence carved a hollow space inside her that ached with every breath. Walking away—that's what he'd called it, as if their two years together could be reduced to a casual stroll in the opposite direction. 
The thin hospital blanket barely kept her warm last night, and though her mother hadn't stirred, Nadia knew she couldn't risk staying again. One glance from her mother in the morning—eyes groggy with medication and confusion—and she'd see everything. The sadness, the fear, the pain of rejection. It would only break her heart further.
"Your mother doing any better?" Gabriel asked, as if reading her thoughts.
Nadia's fingers tightened around the strap of her bag. "The doctors say she's stable."
Gabriel's face softened. "That's something, at least."
"Yes," she whispered. "It's something."
She'd gotten up early, barely recognizing herself. The morning light filtering through the blinds did nothing but illuminate the wreckage of her face in the bathroom mirror. 
She splashed cold water on her face, the shock of it momentarily displacing her grief. "Pull yourself together," she whispered to her reflection. "Dry your tears. Move on." The words hung in the air, fragile as spun glass. With her powder she patched up her face, at least she shouldn't go out shouting-- I just broke up.
The nurse at the station—a young woman with kind eyes and a no-nonsense mouth—had pretended not to notice her slipping out, giving her only a small nod of understanding.
By the time others began streaming in, Nadia was already seated at her desk, sipping from a coffee she could barely afford. The liquid had gone cold, but she drank it anyway, needing the caffeine to pierce through the fog in her mind.
"You look like hell warmed over," came a voice. Nadia looked up to find Zora. "Rough night?"
"Something like that," Nadia replied, forcing a smile that didn't reach her eyes.
Zora perched on the edge of her desk, a folder tucked under her arm. "Word is, Martin's been unusually chirpy this morning. Either someone died and left him a fortune, or he's about to make someone's life miserable."
Nadia felt a prickle of unease. "And the odds are?"
"Ten to one on the misery," Zora said with a wink, sliding off the desk. "Watch your back, Nadi."
But there was something in the air—unspoken, tense. Like the calm before a sharp crack of thunder. The newsroom had its usual morning energy—phones ringing, keyboards clacking, the distant hum of the printing press in the basement—but underneath ran a current of tension.
She couldn't name it. She only felt it.
Then came the polished click of dress shoes. She looked up and saw Tyrone Martin striding across the newsroom floor, dressed immaculately in a charcoal suit that probably cost more than three months of her rent. His silver tie clip caught the light as he moved, and a warm—but too perfect—smile graced his face.
"Nadia," he said, stopping at her desk. "Top notch."
Her brows lifted, cautiously. "Sir?"
"That piece you submitted..." He made a short, impressed whistle, rocking back on his heels. "Sharp, detailed, dangerously close to brilliant."
Nadia's shoulders loosened just a little. She'd spent the whole night on that story—digging through records, cross-referencing statements, building something solid from whispers and fragments. "Thank you. I wasn't sure it—"
"I want you," he cut in, voice silky as expensive scotch, "to help me with something. A revival, of sorts."
She blinked, thrown off-balance. "Revival?"
Tyrone glanced around the newsroom, then pulled up a chair, sitting close enough that she could smell his cologne—something woody and expensive. "The entertainment desk. It's dying. No edge, no presence. It used to be Herald's second soul—music, film, fashion, commentary. Now it's just page fillers." He gave her a knowing smile, leaning forward slightly. "I want you to lead that edge."
Nadia hesitated, confusion washing over her. The entertainment desk was three floors up—away from news, away from investigative work, away from everything she'd been building. "But... the piece I gave you—"
"It's being handled, publication tomorrow," Tyrone said quickly, then softened his tone. "You're talented, Nadia. A little reshuffling, a small shift. And if you deliver, I'll make you senior editor in a week. You've earned that."
A week.
Her eyes flicked to Zora's desk. Empty. Maybe she's gone for her morning coffee. Her sweater hung at the back of her chair. Nadia would miss the presence of her companion.
It was an opportunity—but it was also displacement. A new office, new people, a new beat she hadn't studied since university. And something about it felt wrong—like being offered a beautiful cake that might be filled with sand.
"I'm an investigative reporter," she said carefully, testing the waters. "My background is in political and social issues."
Tyrone's smile never wavered, but something shifted in his eyes. "Versatility is key in this business. Entertainment has its own politics, its own investigations." He paused, letting the words sink in. "Unless you don't feel up to the challenge?"
There it was—the subtle manipulation, the gentle push disguised as belief in her abilities.
Still... senior editor.
Her fingers tightened around the rim of her paper cup. "What would you like me to start with?"
"A review," Tyrone said, standing smoothly and buttoning his jacket. "Pick something buzzy. A new film, an album drop. Pitch it to the entertainment chief tomorrow morning. Think voice, think culture, think relevance."
Nadia gave a slow nod. "Yes, sir."
He smiled again, gave a light tap on her desk, and walked away.
But as he did, the unfamiliar feeling returned, curling around her like a shadow. Something was wrong. Her instincts told her this wasn't a reward—it was a redirection. A reroute. Away from what she'd been digging into, away from the connections she'd been making.
"So," came a whisper from behind. She turned to find Daniel, the junior sports writer, leaning over the partition. His eyes were wide. "Entertainment, huh? Just when your investigation was getting juicy."
"You heard?"
He shrugged. "Hard not to. Martin's not exactly subtle." He glanced around. 
Nadia's stomach clenched."it's just a challenge. I believe I'll be back soon"
"I trust you but be careful. People are being reshuffled and dropped these days without notice"
Nadia nodded slowly. 
She watched as across the room, Tyrone charmed a group of senior staff, his laugh carrying over the newsroom din. His eyes met hers briefly, and in that moment, she felt certain—this was calculated. This was strategic.
She turned back to her computer and pulled up the entertainment listings—new films, concerts, gallery openings. If she was going to play this game, she needed to understand the board first.
Her phone buzzed with a text. Nurse Lena: Mrs. Monica is asking for you and seems agitated. Please call.
Nadia closed her eyes briefly, feeling pulled in too many directions. Her mother, her career, this strange new assignment, and the story—the real story—that seemed to be slipping away.
Then Zora stepped in holding cup of coffee. "What's happening? Heard something as I entered."
"Yeah...you heard right."
"Don't you think he's redirecting you?"
"I don't think so. It's just for a week"
Zora nods, and sprung back to her seat."Ah, got a missed call from Bryan. Just didn't want to call him back til I see you"
"Sure he wants to tell you we broke up" Nadia straightened her spine.
"Wait, Nadi....."
"Seriously, I'd like to concentrate. You know this is a new field." Nadia cuts her off.
"Sure.. let's talk about Bryan next time. For now I'm willing to help you"
Nadia smiled. If this was a game, she'd learn to play it. And maybe, just maybe, win.
"You know," Zora said quietly, "entertainment covers a lot of ground. Including charity galas and who attends them. Including which businesses sponsor which cultural events."
Their eyes met, and understanding passed between them.
"Good point," she said, a small smile forming. "Culture is... interconnected."
She opened a new document and began typing.