Chapter 16 – Cold Openings

On Monday morning, the coffee tasted metallic.

It wasn't the beans. It was her mouth. Her nerves. The afterburn of something unspoken still lodged in her bloodstream.

Anna stood at the window of her new space, the quiet loft studio she now called her agency, watching the city wake beneath her, all glass reflections and tightly wound ambition.

Normal.

Everything moved like it had always moved.

But inside Anna, something was misaligned.

Not broken.

Just… repatterned.

She hadn't heard from Ben all weekend.

Not a message. Not a check-in. Not even a ghost of a "you okay?"

And she hadn't expected one.

Not because it didn't matter.

But because that kiss hadn't been an invitation.

It had been a warning.

Of what they still carried. Of what still had the power to knock them off balance.

She spent the morning editing voice guides for a wellness brand that insisted on using the word "vibrations" in three out of five headlines.

Leah arrived just after 9:30, hair in a claw clip, hands full of client feedback and iced tea.

"Northbridge wants tone adjustments again," she said. "They like 'intentional,' but not 'restorative.' Apparently that's too emotional for a mattress."

Anna smiled, faint. "Let's find a middle ground."

"Stoic comfort?"

"Write it."

They shared a look: war-weary, amused.

Anna was grateful for Leah in ways she didn't yet know how to name.

Not just for her talent.

But for the way she saw her.

By noon, she'd cleared six tasks and rewritten a pitch in half the time it used to take her at VAST.

Here, there were no gatekeepers.

Here, her voice didn't need permission.

But even so, every time she caught her reflection in the darkened window, she saw it:

The shift.

Not a weakness. Not longing.

But awareness.

__

Just after 1:00 p.m., her phone buzzed.

Unknown number.

She almost declined.

Then something made her swipe.

"Anna Valeria speaking."

Silence.

Then: "You weren't supposed to survive this well."

Anna blinked.

"Sydney," she said, flat.

A pause. Then laughter: dry, like static.

"I see your new space is functional."

"You calling to compliment my floor plan?"

"I'm calling to recalibrate."

Anna didn't respond.

Sydney's voice softened, almost intimate.

"I thought we might align before the season changes again. Before things shift further."

"Define shift."

"You have reach now," Sydney said. "Which means you're exposed."

Anna felt something tighten at the base of her spine.

"And you," she said, "sound worried."

"I'm never worried," Sydney said lightly. "Just precise."

And then the line disconnected.

__

Anna stared at her phone for a long time.

The city continued outside.

A truck backfired.

Someone laughed.

Somewhere, time marched on.

But inside her chest, a familiar heat lit.

Not fear.

Focus.

That night, the agency emptied early.

Leah had stayed a little longer, long enough to help rewire a feedback deck from a fussy tech client, long enough to leave Anna a knowing look and a leftover green tea in the fridge.

By 8:00 p.m., Anna was alone.

She didn't turn on the overheads.

The ambient glow from the hallway was enough.

She liked it this way.

Half in shadow. Half becoming.

She leaned over the table, marking up headline iterations, when the door clicked open.

Not loudly.

But intentionally.

Ben.

He stepped inside without announcing himself, as if this space had never stopped recognizing him.

He looked at her. Not past her. Not through.

Just at her.

"Leah let me in," he said, almost apologetic.

"She always did like rebels," Anna replied, not smiling.

Ben walked slowly into the room.

She didn't offer a seat.

He didn't take one.

He paused in front of the whiteboard where some early client personas were still pinned: handwritten notes, color-blocked insights, marker smudges.

"You kept my headline," he said.

Anna glanced over. One sticky note. A line he'd once scribbled during their final weeks at VAST.

"Truth is the only tone that survives the storm."

"I liked the structure," she said. "Not the memory."

Ben nodded. "Fair."

For a while, they didn't talk.

Just stood in the soft light, listening to a printer cooling somewhere, the hum of the world outside glass.

Then he asked, "Do you regret it?"

Anna didn't pretend not to know.

"No," she said. "But I don't romanticize it either."

"Me neither."

He stepped a little closer, not enough to crowd. Enough to feel real.

"I didn't come here to follow up on a kiss."

"Good."

"I came because something's shifting again. And I think you feel it too."

Anna didn't respond.

Because he was right.

Sydney was circling.

And not just with cryptic phone calls.

There were whispers. Quiet PR probes. Old clients being courted with new packages that looked suspiciously like Anna's playbook.

Ben had seen it too: backchannel pitches, deck templates lifted line-for-line.

And Sydney?

She was playing the long game now.

The slow erasure.

"I don't want to get in your way," Ben said.

Anna turned toward him.

"But I don't want to be out of the room either."

That stilled her.

Not because it was romantic.

Because it was honest.

And honesty had always been their most volatile ingredient.

She exhaled once. Measured.

"You don't get a co-founder title."

"I didn't ask for one."

"You don't get to explain me to clients."

"Noted."

"And if you ever ghost a hard meeting again, I will ice you out like a bad rebrand."

Ben's mouth tugged into a half-smile.

"Deal."

Anna moved back to the table. She handed him a stack of pitch drafts without ceremony.

"Since you're here…"

He took them.

Read the first line aloud.

Then looked up, deadpan. "'Reignite your voice without burning the bridge'?"

"Don't edit the slogan," she said. "Edit the CTA."

Ben nodded. "But you know it's a terrible slogan."

"I wrote it at 2 a.m. while eating gummy bears."

"Respect."

They worked in tandem until the clock hit 10:30.

No labels. No lines drawn.

Just rhythm.

And something unfamiliar blooming in the quiet.

Not romance.

Not resolution.

Permission.

__

Outside, the city moved on.

Inside, Anna closed her laptop.

Ben didn't speak.

And neither of them reached for goodbye.

Because there was nothing to name yet.

Only the promise of something being built carefully.

Together.