Iris regretted leaving the apartment almost at once. Her lips were dry, then her hands went numb. Even before she reached the bus shelter, Iris’s stomach knotted like a fist, and her face tensed and reddened.

I should have stayed home. What if something goes wrong? What if he gets hurt? Or seen?

Her focus blurred as Iris ran a thousand unlikely scenarios through her head. The sound of her own labored breathing overpowered that of the brakes on her approaching bus. A blast of hot, stale air brushed Iris’s bangs away from her face, snapping her back to the present. She clutched the faux leather bag with a white-knuckled grasp, denting her fingertips into the false hide.

Trudging up the grating metal steps was even more of a chore this morning. She forced her way up to one of the less ragged seats and craned her neck to look out the window as the bus drove away. Soon, her squalid little apartment receded out of sight, leaving her miracle visitor behind. She stared unblinkingly out the window for some time, long after the scenery changed from suburban to inner city.

The intercom crackled its familiar tune. NEXT STOP: OFFICE DISTRICT. Iris stood up too quickly and felt the blood rush to her head. She pitched forward and stumbled into another passenger, who took the brunt of her fall unawares. The passenger was sturdy of build and stood ramrod straight. They didn’t even flinch as Iris ricocheted off them.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Iris apologized. “Please forgive me.”

The stranger grunted curtly back at her. It was difficult to see much of this person, as they were wearing a tattered jacket with an upturned collar and a wide brimmed hat that obscured their features. They looked out of place for a warm June morning. Iris pursed her lips together and silenced herself from speaking again.

The stranger glanced covertly back at Iris, who stood fidgeting with her bag toggle clasp with eyes averted. The steely cold stare scanned Iris from head to toe before the passenger turned toward the exit. They briskly descended first from the bus and melted into the crowd, vanishing completely by the time Iris could exit.

“Well, good day to you too, I guess…” Iris clucked.

Iris stepped off the final bus stair and waved back at the driver. She smoothed her billowy cardigan and steeled herself for the workday upon entering the lobby. Thoughts of Zayzann tickled the back of her mind, distracting Iris from the standard anxieties of her average workday. She stared at the floor of the elevator and transfixed her eyes in a frozen stupor. A cheery voice brought her world back into focus.

“Good morning!” Evelyn chimed with a broad, kindly grin. “How's by you?” Her sincere, honey-sweet voice put Iris at ease.

“A little tired, but in good spirits,” Iris replied, her lips pursed together in a forced, customer-service smile. “You?”

“I didn't sleep a wink. I've been so worried about filing my reports correctly and getting the data sheets exported...” Evelyn carried on in a relentless flurry of anxiety. “...Not to mention, I've been having trouble with the numbers for a few big accounts.”

“Yeah? Which ones?” Iris asked. “Maybe I can take a look.”

“Uh, well, let's see. Matheson, Helix, and Combs all need attention, but the biggest one is the Whitley account,” Evelyn admitted. The elevator doors opened once more, and the pair jaunted towards the GC&S entryway. “I've tried, like, ten times, but we still come up short on billables and deliveries. I just don't understand it.”

Iris nodded patiently, as she and Evelyn meandered the cubicle labyrinth to their respective cells. Evelyn continued to drone on about numbers, and Iris’s mind wandered. The Whitley account was a huge opportunity for GC&S. Millions of dollars in billings every year, and the potential for increased business next year if the new product launch went well. So why did they give this important client to the new hire?

“Are you listening?” Evelyn asked with her head slightly tilted to one side. “I said I'll print out the data sheets I have for you.”

“Of course, Evee,” Iris replied. “Sorry, I was just thinking. About the account, which supervisor gave you the work?”

“Oh, Mr. Maker gave it to Mr. Dämmerung about a week or so ago.” Evelyn frowned. “And then Ryan gave it to me when his numbers fell short as well.”

“I'll bet he did,” Iris sneered. Despite being great with financials, Iris knew that Ryan Dämmerung was a lout and a lazybones who could not be bothered to finish what he started once he hit a roadblock. “Here, give me the printouts and I'll look them over between calls, okay?”

“Really? Oh, thank you, Iris.” Evelyn sighed, relaxing her tensed shoulders. “I didn't want to disappoint anyone.” She handed the heap of papers to Iris and spied Warren Maker approaching her cubicle like a famished jungle cat. Evelyn bit her lip and looked up at Iris. “I'm still new, and it's a lot to learn. Anyway, go. Go on, git.” She shooed Iris away before Warren set his sights on her.

Mr. Maker zeroed in on Evelyn's cubicle with long, purposeful strides. Iris took the opportunity to duck out of Evelyn's work area and slink back to her own safe haven. She could overhear him making more demands of Evelyn as she snuck away. Something about the supply room and photocopiers? Iris sighed as she approached her cubicle.

It wasn't that Iris wanted to avoid extra work. Mr. Maker just had a habit of finding menial and unpleasant tasks and pawning them off on anyone who didn't look “busy” enough. At least he had no reason to visit Iris now that the presentation for Mr. Cavendish had been sent. She could focus on helping customers and Evelyn instead.

The morning wore on like many countless others before it, with the steady hum of fluorescent lights and stench of day-old everything bagels. It was eerie, thinking about how “normal” it seemed around the office, while Iris had secretly spirited away some strange bird person from an alien world to her apartment. Was this a unique phenomenon? Or has this happened before to anyone else?

She didn't have much time to linger on such thoughts. The mountain of data sheets, invoices and receipts piled high on her workstation, pressuring her squishy bee companion off of its perch. The phone rang again, hidden behind the cache of papers.

“I'm coming, give us a minute!” Iris called out to the demanding device. “Hello, Gabriel, Cavendish & Sparks. Can I help you?” she chirped. “I am terribly sorry, ma'am. I'm afraid that... Yes, well... Be that as it may...” Iris explained the warranty service as best as she was able, but to no avail. The receiver clicked on yet another angry hang-up call. She exhaled fifteen percent of her soul through dry nostrils.

Lunchtime could not come fast enough for her. Iris felt pangs of deep hunger, punctuated by a cool and familiar dizziness. She had been feeling colder and more tired these past few months but didn’t think much of it. Stress, most likely. Iris ignored the lingering dizziness and dug through her pouch of loose change and spotted the hundred-dollar bill in her wallet. Iris licked her dry lips and thumbed past the large bill.

She decanted a handful of change and counted coins for lunch. Aha. Just enough for a hot soup and cup of cafeteria coffee. She clenched the change tightly in her left hand and stowed the wallet in her faux leather bag as she entered the elevator to head downstairs. Before the doors closed, a voice called out to her.

“Hey, hold the elevator, will you?” Mr. Maker's voice raked through her ears like sandpaper as she held the doors open for him. “Oh, thank you, Iris.”

She forced a smile and shrank to the back of the elevator as Mr. Maker, Mr. Matheson, and Mr. Cavendish entered. Mr. Cavendish nodded at Iris before turning around to chat with the others he had been with. She remained silent and tried to make herself look small and uninteresting to the motley group. This was a mean feat, what with her dark purple hair and coral pink cardigan contrasting with the dull metallic interior of the elevator.

“I say it's a fine idea,” Mr. Matheson boomed. He had the gentle round friendliness of Santa Claus, tempered by a finely tailored Italian suit and heavy, masculine bracelets. His voice filled every crevice of the tiny elevator. “You boys sure know what you're on about.” He clapped Mr. Maker on the back with his gigantic hand. The blow pitched him forward and Warren nearly toppled over. Iris struggled desperately not to laugh at his distress at suddenly finding himself unbalanced.

“Yes, sir,” Warren recovered. “We'll put the order in straight away, and I'll send over a confirmation to your office before the end of business today.”

“Hu-ha!” Matheson laughed again. The sound echoed in Iris’s ears, forcing her to grip even more tightly on the change in her hand to distract from the loudness. The elevator stopped at the executive lounge floor above the cafeteria. Matheson exited alone. “Well, I'll leave you to it then. Take care, boys!” The doors closed in sweet silence. Mr. Maker turned to Mr. Cavendish and beamed his semi-permanent half smirk.

“We got him,” Warren said, breaking the heavenly silence.

“Indeed. Good work, Warren,” Mr. Cavendish replied, coolly. He cast a subtle glance back to Iris’s hiding place without turning his head enough for her to notice. “Without your research on this, he wouldn't have agreed to the changes.”

“It was nothing, sir.” Warren smiled as he lapped up the undo credit for Iris’s hard work. “Just happy to help out in our time of need.”

“Yes, well...” Cavendish cleared his throat. “I'll treat you to lunch to celebrate.” He looked back at Iris, who was stricken with a confused expression. “Would you care to join us, Ms. Alcazar?”

Warren glared over Mr. Cavendish’s shoulder and pierced right into Iris. If his eyes were daggers, they would have been lethal. Iris flinched. “N-no, thank you, sir,” she peeped. “I don’t want to interrupt your lunch. Thank you, all the same.” Cavendish knitted his brows slightly, as one might do when encountering something strange or unusual.

“It’s no trouble,” Mr. Cavendish asserted. “I was just about to take Warren here out to celebrate closing the Matheson account.”

The hairs on her arms stood on end, and she was acutely aware that Mr. Cavendish didn’t much care for the sound of “no” from anyone. Warren continued to stare at her with slightly narrowed eyes, but dropped his weapons when Mr. Cavendish turned to face him.

“You don’t mind, do you, Warren?” he asked.

“No, not at all, sir.” Warren scrambled to keep his façade intact. She didn’t know exactly why Mr. Maker didn’t want her around for lunch, and she also didn’t want to annoy Mr. Cavendish either. “I’ll get us a table then.” Warren gave Iris a brief body scan with a displeased look, then left to reserve a table.

With Warren finally gone, Mr. Cavendish leaned over to Iris and spoke softly so others might not hear. His voice carried with a deep, reverberating tone that forced the hairs on Iris’s arms to stand on end.

“I know it was you, Ms. Alcazar,” he whispered.

Iris’s mouth filled with a bitter, metallic taste. She froze where she stood, terrified of what Mr. Cavendish would say next.