Zara pressed her back against the restroom door, breath coming fast. She hated how shaken she felt. Hated that Charlotte’s voice still rang in her ears. She splashed water on her face, forcing herself to breathe. The mirror didn’t help. Her reflection looked pale, worn. A woman hanging on a thread.

She walked back into the hallway with her phone still clutched in her hand. The office buzzed around her, keyboards tapping, voices low, but it all felt muffled. The words from the call looped ...