The sun soared over the bridge, casting light on the moving cars that bounced between the cities, a typical Monday morning.
Somewhere in the city, the roads were cluttered with traffic. One car's driver, a man, glanced in the rearview mirror, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose while muttering about solid principles in cycles.
"Stop that," a woman's voice came through the phone dock. Her yellow jacket bright against the gray backdrop of the city.
"It's just a refresher," the man muttered, eyes still on his phone.
"We're not going to Seattle Grace, sheesh." The woman's voice was teasing but firm.
"God, you're annoying," the man grumbled, his gaze drifting to the window.
Next to him, in the car beside his, the woman was there—flashing a middle finger with a mischievous tilt of her head and pursed lips, her eyes glinting with playful defiance.
The officer's whistle signaled the flow of traffic, and their cars moved onto the next road, leaving the city behind.
Kendrick's gaze shifted to a modern, sleek building in the distance. Its glass façade reflected the sunlight, gleaming like a north star amid the greenery and cluster of nearby structures.
"Kendrick..." Sarah's voice dragged through the phone dock.
"Stop being dramatic," Kendrick said, rolling his eyes.
"Croissant… soup…" she continued, elongating each word.
"Stop being a baby," Kendrick muttered.
"Stop being a baby," Sarah mimicked in a sing-song tone.
"McCallister. Really?" she finally said, her voice sharp. "We're top of the class, top ten at the hackathon, and we choose this?"
"Sarah, I swear—" Kendrick started, his tone tinged with warning.
"Or what? You gonna kick my ass? That's so 80s," she teased. "We could've had soup. Baguettes…"
Kendrick groaned, rolling his eyes again.
Their cars turned through the gates of a modern, medium-sized building. The sign out front read "McCallister" in bold, shiny lettering, its newness contrasting with the otherwise understated design.
Sarah's car led the way, and Kendrick instinctively lowered the volume on his radio, as if it would help him focus while scanning for parking in the open lot.
"Are you seeing this?" Sarah's voice crackled through the phone, her tone suddenly more serious.
Kendrick looked up.
Ahead, a group of people walked toward the main entrance, deep in conversation. At the back of the group, a man with jet-black hair and pale skin trailed silently behind, his posture stiff and detached.
"Rowena Harvings," Kendrick muttered.
"Crap," Sarah's voice filled the air, her usual teasing edge replaced with something closer to dread.
Their cars descended into the basement parking lot, the natural light fading as they delved deeper into the concrete maze.
Kendrick let out a sigh as his car rolled to a stop. The hum of the engine fell silent after he turned the ignition, and he sat still for a moment, taking a deep breath. Beside him, Sarah pulled into the spot next to his, her car coming to a halt with a soft squeal of brakes.
"Will this be as bad as they say?" Sarah asked, her voice breaking through the stillness over the phone dock.
"We just need to keep our heads up," Kendrick replied, trying to sound reassuring. "The founders worked for Coding Kitsch."
"The founders worked for Coding Kitsch," Sarah repeated, her tone sharp, "not hiring from Coding Kitsch."
Kendrick paused, gripping the steering wheel. "We just need to take a deep breath," he said firmly, unlocking his door.
Both of them stepped out of their cars, the cool air of the basement brushing against them as they met beside Kendrick's car.
Sarah turned to him, her eyes glistening under the faint glow of the overhead lights. Her pupils wavered, betraying the nerves she tried to keep hidden.
Kendrick exhaled deeply, his breath sharp and forceful as if to physically shake off the unease. "Come on," he muttered.
Together, they walked toward the underground entrance, its harsh fluorescent light shining in the dimness, casting long shadows on the concrete walls.
The elevator ascended smoothly before parting with a cheerful ping. Kendrick and Sarah stepped out, their footsteps echoing against the polished floor.
"Not too shabby," Kendrick said, his eyes lingering on the sleek marble interior.
The hum of chatter grew louder as they walked down the hallway toward the lobby, a bustling space filled with movement and noise.
"Busy," Kendrick remarked, glancing at the people in the lounge and those crossing between conjoined buildings on the upper floors.
"It's fast-paced, not baby steps," Sarah replied, her gaze sweeping across the parameters of the lobby. She leaned closer to Kendrick, whispering, "I swear to God, this screams shitty code, fast delivery."
Kendrick bit the inside of his cheek, suppressing a laugh, as their eyes wandered to a group mingling in the waiting area nearby.
"Am I late? Is it done?"
The voice, breathless and strained, pulled their attention to a man stumbling toward them. He wore large glasses that nearly slid off his nose, his thin frame heaving as he tried to catch his breath.
"Uh, I guess not," Kendrick said, exchanging a look with Sarah.
The man let out a chuckle between gulps of air. "There was traffic. And Waze lied. I just moved here."
"Great," Sarah said, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.
The man pulled out an inhaler, his chest expanding with each puff before exhaling deeply.
"Virgin in his mother's basement," Sarah whispered to Kendrick, her tone dripping with sarcasm.
Kendrick closed his eyes briefly, willing himself to ignore her comment. He extended his hand to the man with a polite smile.
"Kendrick. Chelsea States," he said, shaking the man's hand.
"Sarah," she added reluctantly, hesitating before taking the man's hand. She pretended to convulse slightly during the handshake, her expression playful yet dry.
The man blinked, seemingly oblivious, and introduced himself. "Peter. I, uh, learned on my own," he said humbly.
Kendrick's eyes brightened, nodding in quiet admiration. "That's impressive."
Sarah nodded as well, though her lips curled into an awkward smile, teeth slightly visible. She blinked again, the look of forced politeness just barely masking her thoughts.
Peter reached into his back pocket, pulling out his phone. "Sorry, it's my mom," he said quickly before walking away toward the elevator, his voice fading as he answered the call.
Kendrick smiled awkwardly, then turned to Sarah, grabbing her arm and pulling her aside.
"Sarah, that's not nice," he said, his voice low but firm.
"What?" she whispered back, her tone pressing and unapologetic.
"He probably worked hard to get here."
"My dad's self-taught. I have no problem with that," Sarah said, crossing her arms.
"Then why are you being such a bitch? You barely even know him," Kendrick said, his brows knitting in frustration.
Sarah's lips twitched as she stifled a laugh. "Tell me he doesn't look like a skinny, neutered gerbil," she whispered, her eyes glinting with mischief.
They both turned their heads subtly, glancing toward Peter, still on his call by the elevator.
Kendrick inhaled deeply, his jaw tightening. He shut his eyes, only to feel a tear escape and stream down his cheek. He let out a long, exhausted breath.
"Fair point," he finally muttered.
A collection of unison footsteps echoed through the lobby, pulling Kendrick and Sarah from their moment. The group they'd noticed earlier at the entrance now trailed behind a cluster of people with ID badges, their chatter muted but purposeful.
Peter ended his call, pulling the phone from his ear as he rejoined Kendrick and Sarah. Behind them, the people lounging on the sofas gathered to form another line.
At the front of the room, a woman with a sharp bob and an even sharper expression stepped forward. Her stern gaze swept over the crowd. "Okay," she said flatly, as if she'd rather be anywhere else.
The man beside her stepped up, clipboard in hand, and began reading names. One by one, each person called moved to the side, forming smaller groups that were led across the lobby to the adjoining buildings.
The cycle repeated, the lines thinning as the groups disappeared into their respective destinations.
Kendrick, Sarah, and Peter stood together, watching as the crowd around them dwindled. Soon, only the three of them and the silent man from earlier remained. His jet-black hair framed soft, pale features that seemed almost out of place in the stark fluorescent light.
The woman with the bob turned, her eyes flicking between the mysterious man behind her and the remaining interns. She closed her eyes, drawing in a deep, steadying breath.
"So, you're my responsibility?" she said, her tone dripping with resignation. "The dream team?"
The four of them exchanged uncertain glances before turning back to her, unsure whether to feel insulted or terrified.
"Great," the woman said, making a sharp turn on her heel. The group scrambled to follow, their footsteps clicking against the polished floor as they picked up the pace.