She slung her bag over one shoulder, picked up the box, and walked through the newsroom one last time. No fanfare. No grand exits. Just the steady beat of heels on linoleum and the quiet certainty that she was finally, irrevocably choosing her own story.
* * *
The wine bar smelled of citrus and ambition. It was just upscale enough to feel intentional, just dim enough to let confessions pass as casual conversation. Margot was already seated near the window, two glasses of deep red waiting between them like old friends.
Harper slid onto the stool opposite her.
“Am I that predictable now?” she asked, eyeing the wine.
“No,” Margot said, handing her the glass. “You’re just very readable to people who’ve been you.”
They drank in silence for a beat, watching the city shift outside the glass.
“So,” Margot said, swirling her wine like it had secrets. “How does it feel to be untethered?”
“Like standing on a cliff with no idea if there’s water below.” Harper paused. “And kind of… exhilarating.”
Margot smiled. “Good. The best journalism’s written from the edge.”
Harper hesitated, then reached into her bag and pulled out a Moleskine. She laid it on the table between them. “Working title:Damage Control.Non-fiction. Power, image, truth. How the system protects itself and whoit sacrifices.”
Margot let out a slow, impressed breath. “Damn, Sinclair. You don’t aim small, do you?”
Harper gave a dry smile. “Never learned how.”
Margot tapped the notebook. “This’ll ruffle feathers. You ready for that?”
“No.” Harper met her gaze. “But I’m doing it anyway.”
A nod. Respectful. Approving. Then Margot lifted her glass again. “To terrifying choices.”
They clinked glasses.
Another pause. Harper stared into her wine, then said it.
“I’m seeing him.”
Margot didn’t blink. “Sebastian.”
Harper nodded. “I didn’t plan to. It just… happened.”
“Like a rogue weather system,” Margot said lightly. “He tends to do that.”
Harper braced for judgment. Margot, to her credit, didn’t deliver it.
Instead she asked, “Is it real?”
“Yes.” A beat. “And stupid. And inconvenient. But definitely real.”
Margot studied her for a long moment, then sighed. “Look, I won’t pretend I didn’t warn you about him. But I also won’t pretend I haven’t seen the way he looks at you.”
Harper blinked. “How—when?”
“Oh, please. I’m not blind. Besides with you, he was always different. Less performative.”
Harper glanced away. “It’s not simple.”
“It wouldn’t be worth it if it were.”