Now the message from that top floor was a fragment, a puzzle piece that teased but didn’t yet explain its meaning.
I’m bracing for a follow-up meeting, unsure if it’s a second chance or just another bureaucratic move to stall and dismiss me.
I haven’t been able to call back or reply yet—I’m waiting, but every minute that passes adds to the sinking feeling that I’m about to lose whatever small grip I still have.
The rain hasn’t stopped, and neither has the uncertainty.
What that unexpected message means, and what it might demand from me next, remains a question hanging just out of reach.
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