POV: Aurora
The alarm goes off three times before my brain understands what's happening.
I sit up in bed as if someone had pushed me from inside. I'm drenched in sweat, my heart is racing, my T-shirt is stuck to my skin. The window is ajar and the rain is coming in softly, but I feel hot.
The same dream again.
I don't remember it completely, just fragments: hallways, white lights, the sound of elevators opening and closing, and that smell of storm that permeates everything. Sometimes I follow it, other times I run away. I never reach the end.
"It's just stress," I tell myself. "It's your third day. Normal."
I get dressed automatically: instant coffee, stale bread, formal clothes that try not to look cheap. As I tie my hair back, I realize that even the soap in the bathroom smells stronger. As if my nose had decided to work overtime without consulting me.
The bus is full.
I push my way on. I grab the bar and immediately the world comes crashing down on me through my nose.
Tobacco. Floral perfume. Sweat. Stale alcohol. Disinfectant. Fried food. All together, all strong.
My stomach protests.
I close my eyes and try to breathe through my mouth. Every time the bus brakes, the smells are shaken up as if someone were stirring them on purpose.
My mind, seeking refuge, chooses the worst possible option: storm and amber.
Dante.
I see him in my head, not on the bus: standing in the middle of the thirty-first floor, ordering the chaos just by being there. I open my eyes before the image lingers.
Lina looks at me as soon as I reach the cubicle.
"You look like you've had an argument with a truck," she says. "And lost."
"I slept badly," I reply. "And the bus smelled like everything."
"Everything more than usual?" she asks.
I nod.
"Much more."
She frowns, but doesn't press the issue. I turn on the computer. The logo appears, then the desktop. I open the Seraphim folder almost reflexively.
For a while, the numbers help.
Rows, columns, amounts, dates. I group, sort, and highlight the new patterns in soft colors: repeated suppliers, twin adjustments, payments that are split for no clear reason.
Until it doesn't.
It's not a noise or a light. It's the air.
Something on the floor changes, as if the building had taken a deep breath.
My skin feels it first.
Storm. Amber.
I don't need to look up to know that Dante Noir is on the floor. My heart skips a beat. The cursor blinks over an empty cell, and suddenly I can't remember what I was going to write.
The murmur of the keys drops a tone. The space becomes smaller. The light from the ceiling seems whiter. My shirt is too big and too tight at the same time.
"It's anxiety," I try. "It happens to you with anyone who could fire you."
My body doesn't buy the excuse.
A strange heat rises up my neck, mixed with a chill that runs down my back. My hands sweat, my neck tingles. The feeling from the other day, but more intense.
"Aurora," Lina whispers beside me.
"What?" I ask without taking my eyes off the screen.
"You're pale," she says. "More than yesterday. Which is saying something."
I try to laugh. It doesn't come out.
"I'm going to get some water," I murmur. "I'll be right back."
I don't wait for her response.
I get up so quickly that my chair hits the panel. I walk down the hallway without looking at Andrade's office area. I look at the tiles. One, two, three.
The smell gets stronger as I walk by. I don't know if he turns around, I don't want to check. My heart is pounding in my ears.
I reach the emergency door at the end. I push it open and climb two flights of stairs until the noise becomes an echo.
It smells like dust and metal here. It's almost a relief.
I lean against the wall. I close my eyes. I inhale, exhale, count.
One, two, three, four.
My heart takes a while to calm down. The heat is still there, under my skin, as if I had a fever, but at the same time my hands feel cold.
"It can't just be stress," I whisper.
The door opens slightly.
"I knew you'd come here," says Lina, poking her head in.
"I'm not hiding," I reply.
She laughs.
"Of course not. You're... appreciating the internal architecture," she says, coming in and sitting on the step in front of me.
She looks at me for a moment.
"Panic attack or an upgraded version of the other day?" she asks.
"I don't know," I admit. "Everything is very intense. Smells, noises, lights. And when he's around... it gets worse."
I don't say his name, but I don't need to.
Lina nods slowly, as if a piece has fallen into place.
"I'm not a doctor," she says. "But this doesn't just sound like 'new job' to me anymore. You should get checked out."
"At the company infirmary?" I ask.
Just thinking about the medical clause makes my stomach churn.
"Someone who works for you, not for the tower," she replies.
But I know that's hard, so at the very least, don't do it alone. If you go to the infirmary, I want to know what they say. Just in case some system decides to 'forget' parts.
I look at her.
"Why do you care so much?" I ask.
She shrugs.
"Because I'm too sensitive to ignore when someone is breaking down next to me," she says. And because since you arrived, this floor smells different. I'm curious to see what it will become.
My phone vibrates.
I take it out of my pocket. New email.
"Subject: Medical checkup — Vega. Please report to the infirmary, 15th floor. Instruction registered by Management."
The dizziness returns, different.
Lina looks at the screen over my shoulder.
"Well," she murmurs. "Looks like someone else thinks you should see a doctor too."
I don't know what worries me more: that something in my body is becoming unmanageable...
Or that, even before I said anything, he had already given the order to have me checked out.