But something about her smile tells me I’m anything but safe.
I shut off the light in my office and pull out my phone.
Me: Hey. I finished up your drawing. I’ll send it over tomorrow.
There’s no need for me to message Zahra, but it feels weird to let a whole day go by without talking. Between my busy schedule and her lack of text messages, I’ve grown restless as the hours have gone by. It’s a warning that I’m becoming dependent on her company. Yet I can’t find it in me to stop.
My phone vibrates in my hand. Zahra sent me a photo of her cubicle, where she has a hundred Post-its strewn across the wall.
Me: You’re still working? It’s 10 p.m.
Zahra: Yes, Grandpa. I had a fun idea I wanted to finish before I went home.
Me: What could possibly be better than sleep?
Zahra: Dinner.
I frown as I type out my next message.
Me: You haven’t eaten anything?
Zahra: No. I burned through all of my snacks hours ago.
Me: I pity you.
Me: Your work ethic reminds me of Rowan.
I’m a piece of shit for referencing myself, but I’m somewhat interested in her unfiltered opinion of me.
Zahra: Yeah right! I wish.
Zahra: I think the man runs on solar energy because there’s no way he’s human.
I chuckle low under my breath. That would be convenient and way more time-efficient than sleeping.
Me: Sounds plausible. It would explain his need for taking a walk during his lunch break.
Zahra: How do you know these things?!
Shit. Yeah, Scott, how do you know these things?
Me: Everyone knows to avoid the back lot quad at noon.
Zahra sends a few laughing emojis and another text.
Zahra: Oh. I didn’t know this!
Me: That’s because you live inside of a warehouse. Go home.
Zahra: I will. I will. Maybe in an hour.
I shake my head and pocket my phone. While I’m pleased that some Creators are taking their jobs seriously like Zahra, it doesn’t make me happy to know she’s up this late on an empty stomach.
The walk to the Catacombs entrance isn’t far from my office. As I walk through the tunnel, I find myself slowing down near the Creators’ warehouse entrance.
You could go in and force Zahra to go home and come back tomorrow with a full stomach and a good night’s rest.
I walk up the steps and open the door without giving anything a second thought. The path to Zahra’s cubicle is one I’ve memorized, and I find myself stopping at the entrance to watch her work. It’s my kind of entertainment, with her working her bottom lip as she grabs a Post-it and folds it into a neat little square. She turns and attempts to throw it in a mason jar. Her shot is too short, and the paper falls to the ground.
“Nice shot.”
Zahra jumps in place. “You scared me!” She turns on her heel and looks me up and down. “What are you even doing here?”
I’m struck speechless. What am I doing here?
“I wanted to check in and see if anyone was still working.” That much is true.
“Why?” She raises a brow.
“I wanted someone’s opinion on something.” For fuck’s sake. Go home while you still stand a chance.
“Okay. Hit me.” She smiles as she leans against her desk.