Nyra Kade
(Future)
Nyra first saw her name on a stranger's phone.
She was standing in line for coffee, the kind she ordered when she wanted to feel ordinary. The man ahead of her scrolled absently, his thumb slowing. She recognized the headline before she recognized herself.
FORMER EMPLOYEE FILES CIVIL SUIT AGAINST VALECREST GROUP
Her name followed, smaller but unmistakable.
Nyra Kade.
The barista asked for her order twice before she answered. Her voice sounded distant, like it belonged to someone else. When she finally stepped aside with her cup, her hands were shaking badly enough that she had to set it down untouched.
This was what exposure felt like—not loud, not dramatic. Just a sudden loss of anonymity.
Her phone buzzed. Then again. Messages from numbers she didn't recognize. A voicemail from her mother she didn't yet have the courage to open. She watched the screen light up and go dark until it felt like a living thing demanding her attention.
She had imagined this moment differently.
In her imagination, there had been relief. Vindication. Some cinematic sense of justice. Instead, there was only fear threaded with a strange, hollow calm.
Nyra sat on a bench outside the café and opened the article.
They called her a former associate. A young professional. An alleged mistress.
The word stung more than she expected.
She thought of the interview. The compliments framed as opportunity. The way the boundaries had moved gradually, politely, until refusing had felt unreasonable. She thought of how many times she had told herself this was temporary. Strategic. Necessary.
Her phone buzzed again. This time, a message came through without a name.
You don't know what you've started.
Nyra stared at the screen until the words blurred. Then she deleted the message. Her thumb hovered for a moment before she powered the phone off completely.
For the first time since she had walked into the Valecrest building, silence belonged to her.