This is Not a Sequel: Chapter 3

Apr 03, 2026

The hallway felt narrower than it should have. Light was low. The air had gone cold. The apartment had exhaled after Ryder left, and now it held its breath again, waiting for her to do something it could react to.

Another sound from the bedroom. A soft thump. The rasp of a tongue on fur.

Lady stopped at the threshold. She knelt and peered into the dark space under the bed frame.

A shape shifted, catching what little light reached the floor. A shoulder moved as it licked at itself. The cat paused and looked at her. Copper eyes blinked once. Slow. Unimpressed.

It looked bored. It looked safe. Lady let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding.

“Ripp.”

She reached under and scooped him up.

“There you are,” she said.

He was soft and warm. He smelled like dust and that expensive salmon kibble Ryder used to complain about. He let out a small, protesting chirp but didn’t struggle. Lady pressed her face into his fur for a second too long. She needed proof.

She found the thin blue strip of his collar. Her finger searched for the silver bell.

She flicked it.

It didn't jingle. It gave a dead little knock.

Lady frowned and pulled him closer to the light. The bell wasn’t broken. It was packed tight with pale fur and a piece of dried grass. Enough to kill the sound.

She picked at it with her fingernail until the bell rang freely. The chime was a needle in the quiet room.

Ripp let out a sharp meow and twisted out of her arms. He landed on the carpet with a soft thud and trotted out, tail high, like the whole thing had been a personal insult.

Lady stayed kneeling. She stared into the dark under the bed. Nothing moved.

She stood and backed out, closing the door.

Her laptop was open in the corner of the living room, the one spot that pretended to be an office. The Zoom window filled the screen. She slid her reading glasses on before the four faces resolved into their little boxes.

“Okay,” Reba said. She had short gray hair and looked like she’d been born inside a quarterly review. “Updates, blockers. Ronda, you’re first. Give us the wins.”

Ronda leaned forward. Their mouth moved. No sound came out.

“Mute, Ronda,” Reed said. He wasn't looking at the lens. He was looking three inches to the left at a teleprompter or a ghost.

Ronda clicked. “Sorry. Uh, yeah. Analytics dashboard is live. Already seeing some interesting patterns in open rates. I’ll send the deck after this.”

“Great,” Reba said. Her voice was flat as a table. “Reed?”

Reed adjusted his camera. “Working the onboarding flow. Design sent mockups. I'm taking them to product this afternoon to see if they'll actually fly.”

A faint pressure settled behind Lady’s eyes. A dull weight pressing against the back of her skull. She shifted in her chair and pushed her glasses up.

“Lady,” Reba said. “You’re up.”

Lady glanced at her notes. Ink. Bullet points. She’d written them earlier. Or last night. The words looked familiar in the way a grocery list looks familiar. You trusted them because you had to.

“I’m coordinating the launch,” Lady said. Her voice sounded thin. “Emails are done. Scheduled for Friday.”

“Blockers?” Reba asked.

“No blockers,” Lady said. A reflex. A small lie to end the day.

“Great. That’s everyone,” Reba said.

“Before we jump off,” Reed said, “do we have visibility into the next phase? Just want to make sure we’re all aligned.”

Reba’s hand stopped. It was a tiny thing. A stillness in her posture that changed the air, like the call had brushed a boundary it didn't have access to.

“Good question,” Reba said. “Let’s take that offline.”

The call ended. The boxes vanished.

Lady stared at the empty Zoom window. Her own reflection hovered in the dark glass. She tried to reconstruct the meeting. Who said what. What Reba’s “offline” had actually meant.

The pressure behind her eyes tightened, sharp for a moment, then flattened.

She shook her head and opened her email. The documentation was already there. Timestamped. Clean. A thread of decisions laid out in sequence, neat as if someone had been tracking her life more closely than she had.

She scrolled through it once. No gaps. No questions.

Lady sat back and let her eyes unfocus.

Ripp hopped onto the arm of the couch. He gave her a slow blink. Normal. Annoyed.

Lady stood and walked to the kitchen for water.

The trash can lid sat slightly crooked. Somewhere inside, Ryder’s latte cup sat in the bagged garbage where it had landed. The apartment felt calm the way a room feels calm after it wins.

On the counter sat the bottle of Malbec.

The one that was missing.

Empty.

Lady stopped so fast her shoulder bumped the doorway trim. She stared at the bottle until her eyes started to sting.

Behind her, Ripp’s bell gave a tiny, clear ring.

Somewhere down the hall, the floor answered with a creak.

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