Chapter 2

I sent it to Antonio.

I even reminded him not to forget to attach my version of the contribution statement.

He had replied with a simple okay.

That night, he sent me a photo.

Gwen was sitting in the hospital with an IV drip in her hand, her eyes red from crying as she stared at the camera.

He said, "Gwen's paper was rejected. She's been crying all afternoon. I'm staying with her for a bit. You get some sleep early."

I stared at that message for a long time.

In the end, I replied with a single okay.

I realized that he hadn't just stayed with her through her IV drip that night.

He had also taken my first authorship and given it to her.

I looked at Antonio. "So you deleted my contribution statement too?"

Antonio's jaw tightened.

Before he could say anything, Gwen's eyes were already welling up with tears.

"Eloise, how could you even think that about Antonio? Everyone knows you did the most, but it's not like I did nothing. I helped polish the final abstract, and I worked with Antonio on the presentation slides," she said.

I nodded. "So, you polished the abstract and adjusted the slides."

Gwen's face went pale.

Antonio immediately stepped in front of her.

He said, "Eloise, today's a big day for the team. Do you really have to make a scene?"

Behind him, the big screen was still frozen on the award page.

In gold letters, it read: [Ten years of hard work, and finally, the results bloom.]

Below, the names were lined up in two neat rows.

I was at the very end, as if I were an afterthought, carelessly tacked on at the end.

I pulled out my phone and opened my email.

Antonio saw what I was doing, and his tone turned cold.

He asked, "What are you doing?"

I didn't look up.

I opened the draft I'd already written.

The title was short.

It read: [Statement of Withdrawal from the Starling Neural Interface Repair System Project Team and All Subsequent Application Work.]

The body was only a few lines: [Due to a change in my career plans, I, Eloise Dixon, am withdrawing from the Starling Project Team effective today.

[I will no longer take part in any future applications, defenses, collaboration, or commercialization of outcomes.

[All original experimental records, interim data reports, and meeting minutes under my name will be handed over according to institute regulations.

[I will no longer be responsible for any future revisions, authorship changes, or citations.]

I read through it once to confirm everything was correct.

It read: [Recipient: Antonio.

[CC: All members of the Starling Project Team, Research Institute Achievement Office, partner company contact email, and Overseas Research Institute HR Department.]

Antonio finally realized I wasn't bluffing.

He lunged for my phone.

I stepped back and hit send.

A notification popped up on the screen: [Sent successfully.]

Almost instantly, phones around me began chiming one after another.

Each chime followed the last.

It sounded like applause that arrived too late.

A baby's breath fell from Gwen's bouquet.

Antonio stared at me, his breathing growing heavier.

He said, "Eloise, are you out of your mind?"

I put my phone back in my bag.

I replied, "No."

At the end of the red carpet, the event photographer called for the project team to gather for a group photo.

"Mr. Torres, Dr. Clark, hurry up. The senior staff are waiting for the group photo," the event photographer said.

Antonio didn't move.

Gwen grabbed his sleeve, her voice trembling.

She said, "Antonio, let's take the photo first. Everyone's watching."

Antonio's gaze remained fixed on me, as if I couldn't leave unless he allowed it.

But this time, I slipped right past him.

The stage lights were blinding.

As I walked past the big screen, I saw my name sitting at the very end of the list.

Eloise Dixon.

My name was so tiny, it was almost drowned out by the design.

I didn't stop.

Behind me, Antonio hurried after me.

"Eloise, the project has its technical defense next week. If you quit now, what will everyone do?" he asked.

I stopped at the entrance to the venue.

Outside the glass doors, the sky was dark, and rain was pounding down on the steps.

I turned to look at him.

I said, "Isn't the first author up on stage?"

In that moment, Gwen's face drained of all color.

*****

The rain was coming down hard. I didn't have an umbrella.

By the time I reached the side entrance of the research institute, my hair and shoulders were soaked.

The security guard did a double-take when he saw me.

He asked, "Ms. Dixon, the ceremony's over already?"

I pressed the empty spot on my chest where my badge used to be, only then remembering I'd left it on the red carpet.

"It's over," I said.

The security guard didn't ask any more questions. He handed me an umbrella.

"This rain came on fast. You have a weak stomach. Don't get soaked," he said.

I took the umbrella and said, "Thanks."

I had walked this path to the institute for ten years.

In spring, sycamore fluff drifted like snow. In summer, the lab building air conditioning broke three times. In winter, the hallways got so cold my fingers would go numb.

I used to think every single brick here carried my footprints.

Now as I walked in, the access control system didn't beep to welcome me.

The system scanned my face.