Pollen's P.O.V
I sat down at my desk at Workstation Cluster 04, staring blankly at the lines of source code on my monitor. My fingers rested quietly on the keyboard, but I didn't type anything. The room felt uncomfortably tense, and a steady ache was starting to press against my temples.
Whispers can be heard everywhere in the room. The development floor, which was usually filled with nothing but the steady rhythm of keyboard clicks and mouse taps, had dissolved into a quiet hive of speculation. Their spoken words were perfectly audible, cutting through the thin plastic partitions of the cubicles.
They must be shocked because I was given a two-weeks vacation out of nowhere, while they just got hit with a two-weeks heavy workload.
I looked around and they are chattering. Small groups had gathered near the water cooler and at the edges of the row dividers, glancing back toward my terminal with hard, disapproving expressions. Because I hadn't taken my neuro-stabilizer this morning out of absolute fear of repeating yesterday's suffocating headache, the unshielded thoughts of the room were bleeding into my peripheral vision.
"Did you hear that? Two full weeks?" a senior analyst from the database track muttered a few desks over, his voice dropping as he leaned toward his coworker.
"Henderson just signed off on it. Meanwhile, he dumped three entire server repository migrations onto my desk before lunch."
"Is she serious?" a girl from the QA team whispered back, her ergonomic chair squeaking as she turned around.
"We're working through the weekend to patch the August deployment, and she gets a golden pass? Must be nice to be the manager's favorite."
"It doesn't make any sense," another voice joined in from the corner terminal.
"She doesn't even have the seniority for an extended leave. Something is definitely going on."
I looked at them and they started looking away and get back on their respective seats to continue working.
Even though they pretended to ignore me now, their unshielded, frustrated thought bubbles still flashed erratically in my peripheral vision because I hadn't taken my neuro-stabilizer this morning. I clamped my teeth together and kept my eyes locked on my screen, forcing myself to ignore the hostile environment. I couldn't blame them for being bitter. If the roles were reversed, I would be wondering the exact same thing.
I almost forgot to check the invitation letter. With quiet, careful movements, I reached down and pulled my tote bag closer to my knees. I unzipped the main compartment, reached past my personal things, and pulled the dark blue envelope free from the shadows. The broken, midnight-blue crescent moon wax seal felt rough against my fingers.
I carefully reached inside, sliding out the thick, high-textured piece of linen paper. I ignored the formal text on the front this time, flipping the heavy paper over to look directly at the bottom left corner. Stamped discreetly into the texture in small, flawless silver ink was the specific timeline.
August 31, Monday to September 12, Saturday.
Room 210 Luxury – 2nd Floor, Main Building of Starry Nightsky Hotel.
The date is so intense. I stared at the silver numbers, my mind rapidly calculating the tight timeline of the next seventy-two hours.
Today was already Friday, August 28th.
The weekend was right in front of me, and according to this invitation, I was expected to board a private transit shuttle at the 22nd Street terminal first thing Monday morning.
A sudden wave of panic flared in my chest as I realized how tightly packed my upcoming schedule really was. I have a priority health check-up tomorrow, on Saturday, with Doctor Valerie. That appointment was absolutely critical to secure a fresh prescription for my blue pills. After what happened at the cemetery parking lot, I knew I couldn't risk stepping foot outside my comfort zone without a verified stabilizer stash.
Then, I have a day off on Sunday. And that means I also need to prepare clothes for a change while staying on a private island. Two whole weeks away from my house, living in a luxury room prepared entirely for an elite guest.
How can I bring this up on Zachy?
Will I be able to bring this up to him? Or am I going to go there? I don't know, I'm nervous. I have no idea how Zachy will react once he hears about this sudden, luxurious two-week leave. He is already so overprotective after my collapse yesterday.
If I tell him that a powerful billionaire CEO named Kyles Morris—a man I only know by name and have never even met—is the one who sent me this exclusive card, Zachy will definitely have a lot of questions.
"Pollen?"
A sharp, familiar voice broke through my internal panic. I jumped slightly, my heart leaping into my throat as I frantically slid the linen paper back into the envelope and dropped it into my lap, covering it with both hands.
Dahlia was leaning over the top of our shared cubicle divider, her chin resting on her crossed arms. Her pastel pink thought bubble was vibrating with a sudden wave of frantic, sweet concern. Dahlia was genuinely confused about why Henderson had given me a two-week leave out of nowhere, and she absolutely hated seeing me stuck in a situation where the entire office was whispering about me. She didn't want me to be hated by everyone.
"You're completely pale," she said softly, her voice dropping so the whispering coworkers wouldn't catch her words.
"Are you really okay? I'm just confused why Henderson suddenly gave you a two-week leave right now. It's totally unfair that everyone is glaring and whispering behind your back. I really don't want them to misunderstand or hate you for this, Pol."
I looked up at her, my throat dry as I felt the heavy weight of the hidden blue envelope resting against my thighs. Her pink thoughts radiated toward me, full of protective warmth.
'Management is making things so difficult. I don't want Pollen getting blamed for their weird scheduling choices. I'll speak to my brother if they keep stressing her out.'
The mental mention of her older brother made my chest tighten for a reason I couldn't yet comprehend. I forced my lips into a small, reassuring line, shaking my head slightly to dismiss her fears.
"I'm fine, Dahlia. Really," I lied softly, my fingers tightening around the hidden cardstock beneath the desk line.
"I just... I have a lot of things I need to sort out before the weekend hits. Don't worry about the whispers. Let's just focus on finishing the server tracks before the review."
Dahlia stared at me for a long second, her pink bubble doing a slow, hesitant loop as she searched my face for any signs of deception.
Finally, she let out a small pout and nodded, sliding back down into her own seat. We wouldn't even be able to talk about it during the evening commute; she lived 15 kilometers away in the wealthy upper district of Wisteria Town, while my house was only 8 kilometers away in Cloudnine Town. We took completely opposite bus transit lines from the station. This desk was our only quiet window.
"Okay," she grumbled aloud, her keyboard clicking back to life a second later.
"But you're texting me later. You owe me a full update on whatever is going on, Pol."
"Yeah," I whispered strictly to myself, my eyes dropping back to my monitor as the low hum of the office closed in around me again.
"Later."
I slid the envelope securely back into the deepest pocket of my tote bag, zipping it shut with a final, decisive click. The countdown had officially begun. I had exactly twenty-four hours to survive the office envy, secure my medical stabilizers from Doctor Valerie, and figure out how to navigate the unexpected mystery waiting in my bag.
Zachary's P.O.V.
I leaned against the passenger side door of Leo's silver sedan, keeping my eyes locked on the sleek glass exit doors of Matrix Co. Ltd. The evening rush was just starting to peak, and employees were beginning to filter out of the building in small, exhausted groups, loosening their ties and pulling out their phones.
I had been waiting for Pollen outside the office for the last twenty minutes. After the terrifying way her knees had buckled at the cemetery yesterday afternoon, there was absolutely no way I was going to let her take a crowded public bus back to Cloudnine Town alone today.
I wanted to check on her condition myself. I needed to see with my own eyes if her breathing was stable, or if that crushing pressure in her head was still lingering behind her eyes.
I reached into my pocket, pulling out my phone to check the screen. The message I had sent her earlier was still sitting at the top of our chat log:['Hey Pol, Leo and I are picking you up right after you clock out. We're parked out front. Don't take the bus.']
She hadn't replied yet, which usually meant she was completely buried under a mountain of source code at her desk.
"Any sign of her?" Leo asked from the driver's seat. He had the window rolled down, his arm resting lazily on the frame as he watched the digital clock on the dashboard inch closer to 5:35 PM.
"Not yet," I murmured, sliding the phone back into my jeans pocket.
"She should be coming down any minute now."
Tomorrow was Saturday, the day of her priority medical evaluation. I wanted to make sure that she would go with me and Leo to the Cosmic Medical Hospital on 20th Street without making any excuses. Pollen had a stubborn habit of downplaying her pain whenever she felt like she was becoming a burden to us, but after yesterday's scare, I wasn't taking any chances. Even if I had to physically carry her into the clinic myself, she was getting that check-up.
As the heavy glass doors of the lobby swung open again, my posture instantly straightened. A familiar, quiet figure stepped out onto the concrete pavement, her tote bag clutched tightly against her side as she kept her head down, completely disconnected from the bustling crowd around her.
"There she is," I said, breaking away from the car door and stepping forward onto the sidewalk.
Pollen's P.O.V.
As soon as I stepped out of the heavy glass doors of the lobby, the humid evening air hit my face, but it did nothing to clear the heavy fog in my head. I kept my eyes on the pavement, trying to ignore the lingering tension from the office, until a familiar voice cut through the ambient street noise.
"Pol! Over here!"
I looked up, and my chest instantly loosened.
Zachy was waving at me from the passenger side of the familiar sedan. Seeing them parked there waiting for me felt like a sudden, warm shelter from the exhausting day I had just survived. I rushed toward them, my flats clicking quickly against the concrete pavement as I bypassed the crowded path toward the employee bus stops.
The moment I reached the car, Zachy stepped out to open the door for me on the back seat.
'She's late, but I won't scold her today for being late,' his thought rolled through my mind, completely devoid of any real annoyance.
'She looks so exhausted.'
A small, genuine smile touched my lips.
"Thank you, Zachy," I said softly, looking up at him as I climbed inside. He was being a gentleman again, always stepping in to take care of the small things whenever he noticed I was overwhelmed.
I got into the car, sliding onto the fabric of the back seat and pulling my tote bag onto my lap. The interior smelled faintly of Leo's familiar mint air freshener, a welcome relief from the sterile, suffocating atmosphere of Workstation Cluster 04.
Zachy climbed into the front passenger seat, closing his door with a solid, muted click. Up front, Leo shifted his gaze to the rearview mirror, giving me a quiet, reassuring nod before he turned the key. The engine came to life with a low, smooth purr that vibrated faintly through the floorboards as he shifted into drive and eased the sedan out into the evening traffic of 20th Street.
To break the quiet density of the cabin, Zachary reached forward and turned on the music. A soft, low-tempo melody began to filter through the car speakers, drowning out the distant hum of the Snowflakes Town transit lines outside our windows. I leaned my head back against the headrest, my fingers tightening around the strap of my tote bag, completely hyper-aware of the dark blue invitation letter hidden just a few inches away under the zipper.
Kyles's P.O.V.
Xyrus was nagging me on the phone, his voice a persistent buzz against my ear as he demanded to know why on earth I was giving Pollen a two-weeks vacation on Starry Nightsky Island. I didn't say anything yet to him. I just sat at my desk, listening to his frantic questions without offering a single word of explanation.
"I will talk to him about this later on," I muttered to myself, rubbing the bridge of my nose as I abruptly cut the call and tossed the phone onto the desk.
The silence of my study closed in around me, but my mind was still stuck in that cemetery parking lot. I wanted to properly apologize to Pollen. I know this action isn't my doing—the sudden, reckless impulse to bypass her company and force her into an elite resort pass was completely out of character—and I am questioning myself too.
Maybe I just wanted her to be able to enjoy the beautiful view of the night sky and genuinely relax on the island, away from all the stress, as a way of apologizing to her for putting a surveillance net around her life.
I looked down at my right hand resting on the mahogany wood. The knuckles were still heavily swollen, the scraped skin a dark, angry crimson beneath the dried line of blood. The dull, throbbing ache was a physical reminder of the guilt twisting in my gut. I had crossed a line, and now, all I could do was wait to see if she would actually board that transit shuttle on Monday morning.