Chapter 5

I'd just submitted the report and hadn't even had a second to catch my breath when Yvette's smug voice came crackling through the intercom. "Ms. Lott," she said, "Mr. Zeller wants to see you in his office now. Bring the market analysis report with you."

A wave of dread washed over me. And sure enough, when I pushed open Jackson's office door, there Yvette was, standing next to his desk with a victorious smirk plastered on her face. Jackson, on the other hand, looked furious.

"Mackenzie," Jackson barked, slamming the printed report down in front of me, jabbing a finger at one of the charts. "Explain this. Why did our flagship product's market share drop five points overnight?"

My head reeled. I rushed over and snatched the report, eyes locked onto the steep drop on the graph.

How was it possible? I triple-checked these numbers yesterday. They were climbing, not falling.

Yvette feigned concern. "Ms. Lott, were you to overworked to enter the data rightly? This isn't a minor issue. The board meeting is tomorrow, and if we submit this..."

She trailed off, but the implication was clear.

It hit me instantly—this had Yvette written all over it. But I couldn't prove it. Computer logs could be tampered with. I had nothing to defend myself with.

"I..." I opened my mouth, but my throat was dry. No sound came out. I could feel cold sweat trickling down my temples.

"That's enough," Jackson cut me off, his eyes flicking from Yvette to me before settling on me, unreadable. "Stay back. Go over the data again. Find the mistake. I want this resolved tonight."

Yvette's triumphant smile stiffened. "Mr. Zeller, this kind of careless mistake..."

Jackson didn't even look at her. His voice turned glacial. "You can leave."

Yvette's attempt fell flat. She gave me a deadly glare before stalking out, heels clacking sharply with every resentful step.

Now it was just me and Jackson. The air in the office felt heavy and thick with pressure.

I braced myself for a scolding, but Jackson simply sank back into his chair and powered up his laptop. "Where's the raw data file?" he asked. "We'll go through it together."

I froze. He wasn't going to yell at me. Instead, he was actually going to stay late and help me fix this.

The building was deathly quiet that night. Only the soft clicking of keyboards and our occasional breaths broke the silence.

Outside, the city buzzed with life. Inside, we worked side by side.

At some point, Jackson ordered takeout—a seafood chowder and a chicken dish. Without saying a word, he slid the containers toward me and went back to the data.

Time crawled. My eyelids grew heavier, my brain fogging over.

Just as I was about to doze off at the desk, something strange flickered before my eyes, like a dream slipping through the cracks of consciousness.

There, in the corner of Jackson's desk, I spotted an old wooden figurine. It seemed to be an intricately carved little cat, curled up tight. Its eyes were tiny dull beads, and the entire piece had a vintage, hand-worn look.

It was faint, but it felt like the figurine was giving off a strange, almost ghostly energy.

Suddenly, I jolted awake, rubbing my eyes instinctively as I looked toward Jackson's desk.

There it was, the same wooden cat from my "dream."

As I stared, I could almost feel a strange hum of energy, like a faint charge brushing against my fingertips.

My heart started pounding. Could this be... the link to our shared dreams? Or maybe a key?

Just then, as I stared fixedly at the cat figurine, lost in my thoughts, Jackson looked up. His sharp gaze landed immediately on the same spot.

His gaze narrowed, revealing a sharp tension I'd never seen on his face before.

In a smooth, practiced motion, Jackson reached over, grabbed the wooden cat, and slid it into the right-hand drawer of his desk. With a sharp click, he locked it shut.

The whole movement was fast and fluid, carrying an unmistakable finality.

My heart hammered even faster. He knew there was something about that figurine. He might even have known what I just saw.