The office was quiet, save for the low hum of computers and the tick of a clock on the wall. Pale dawn light slipped through the blinds, painting the room in soft amber.

Racheal sat slumped over her desk, one paw draped across a pile of reports, the other loosely gripping an empty mug. She groaned, the sound muffled against her sleeve. Hours of reworking a client’s files had drained her completely. The only mercy—no one had yelled. Still, their disappointment stung.

At least it was done. The sky outside was already turning gold.

Her phone had buzzed earlier—Felix checking in. Explaining everything had been awkward, but he’d understood, his voice calm, reassuring. “We’ll talk later,” he’d said. She’d smiled faintly at that.

Now, exhaustion pulled her under. Her breathing steadied; her fingers twitched once. Sleep finally won.

A hand touched her shoulder.

Racheal jolted awake, eyes wide, a thin line of drool on her lip. Her vision blurred, then sharpened into the figure of a Meowth standing before her—Amelia. One of the higher-ups. Warm eyes, soft fur, and that easy confidence that made everyone listen when she spoke.

“Darling,” Amelia said gently, “what are you doing here? It’s early morning.”

Racheal rubbed at her eyes and straightened her back, trying to look composed. “Had to fix some overdue reports,” she said hoarsely. “Client helped out. Everything’s running fine now. I’ll be ready for the meeting.”

Amelia tilted her head, eyes narrowing slightly. The Purugly’s fur was frayed, her eyes ringed with fatigue, and a smudge of lipstick trailed down one cheek.

“No, sweetie,” Amelia said softly, but with finality. “You need to go home. Alex will take over.”

Racheal’s ears drooped. She hesitated, fingers curling together on the desk. “Was it… because of last night?”

Amelia nodded. “He was worried. Said you looked ready to pass out.” She placed a steady paw on Racheal’s shoulder. “Go home. That’s an order.”

Racheal stared for a beat, then sighed and nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

She gathered her bag, shoulders heavy, and walked toward the elevator. The mirrored doors slid open, reflecting her tired face—fur messy, eyes dull, posture sagging.

“Racheal?” Amelia called out.

The Purugly turned, ears perked faintly.

“Maybe stop by the food trucks first,” Amelia said with a small smile. “A little Swablu told me someone there has something for you.”

The elevator doors closed with a soft chime.

Racheal blinked, a small smile forming despite her fatigue. Confused, curious—and just a little lighter—she leaned against the wall as the elevator descended into the warm morning below.