That afternoon, once lunch had settled and the pleasant drowsiness wore off, business at the front desk picked up. Not dramatically. Not chaotically. Just… noticeably. People were finding the new website. Calls came in asking careful questions—Is this still the same station? Did the schedule change? Who answers the

The next morning, Olivia woke feeling… good. Not euphoric. Not unnaturally calm. Just rested. Centered. She lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, taking inventory of herself the way she’d learned to do when life felt too loud. No bad dreams clung to her. No tight knot

Olivia did exactly what Charles had suggested. She purged the inbox. All of it. Every last message—deleted, archived, banished, or otherwise escorted out of existence. Even with the new system’s help, the process took several hours, the counter ticking down with a gravity usually reserved for geological events.

By Wednesday morning, the station—normally drowsy, unhurried, content to let time pass as it pleased—had become a hive. Not a metaphorical one. An actual, buzzing, skittering, twinkling hive of activity. Goblins Olivia had never seen before filled the hallways in every direction, some hauling coils of cable thicker

Olivia woke before the building did. That alone felt like an accomplishment. The bed, naturally, objected. Sheets tightened just enough to make their displeasure known, the mattress subtly reshaping itself around her hips as if hoping she might reconsider. Olivia negotiated—five more minutes, a promise of a nap later,

Just before midnight, they drifted back down to the lobby together. Technically, Olivia was still off duty—but she lingered near the front desk anyway, hands folded, posture careful. After everything the Hosts had done to make her feel welcome, it felt right to see them off. Like standing in

Dinner was already in full swing when they entered the breakroom. The long table was crowded, chairs pulled close together, voices overlapping in comfortable chaos. Hosts drifted in and out between bites, some still half in costume, others loosened and relaxed, laughter rising and falling like a tide. The buffet

Sunday morning found Olivia awake far earlier than she needed to be—but still very much in bed, which was perfectly content to keep her there. She lay on her back, phone held above her face, scrolling slowly and thinking, the blankets warm and faintly weighted in a way that

When Olivia reached the breakroom, it was pleasantly calm. Only three or four Hosts lingered over dinner, their conversations low and unhurried. Charles and Miss LaDonna sat together at the far end of the long table, tea and wine glasses within easy reach. The buffet line was still set up—

Saturday morning arrived gently. Olivia slept in, deeply and without dreams, finally stirring sometime after nine. The bed was warm—too warm—and impossibly comfortable, almost as if it had decided she was not finished resting and intended to keep her. There were no polite nudges this time, no subtle

Friday arrived almost without her noticing. Thursday had passed in much the same way as Wednesday—calls answered, oddities handled, the rhythm of the station settling comfortably around her. By the time she woke Friday morning, Olivia realized she wasn’t bracing herself anymore. She knew what most callers wanted.

At exactly nine o’clock, the Station exhaled. There was a soft click from the front doors as the locks disengaged, followed by the gentle flip of the hanging sign. Sorry! Try again tomorrow! turned itself over to Please, come in!, settling with a faint, satisfied sway. Olivia straightened in

Olivia woke slowly. Not with a jolt, not with the familiar tightness in her shoulders or the dull ache in her lower back, but the way people were probably meant to wake—drifting upward through layers of sleep, warmth lingering, breath deep and even. She lay still for a moment,

Dessert plates were cleared, the last of the wine poured. The break room felt comfortably insulated now, as though the world outside had agreed to wait its turn. The light beyond the windows hadn’t shifted much at all. Olivia noticed. “…Is it just me,” she asked, “or has it

After lunch, they didn’t rush. Charles let the break room conversation taper naturally, mugs emptied, plates cleared, the last crumbs of lemon tart dispatched with quiet satisfaction. Miss LaDonna rose first, smoothing her skirt. “I’ll see you later,” she said to Olivia, her tone warm and certain. “There’

Olivia didn’t remember Charles leaving. One moment he had been there, calm and solid, frost still melting at their feet — and the next she was alone in the hallway, staring at her own front door like it had somehow betrayed her. She stood there for a long moment before

The click of her boots echoed against linoleum as she stepped inside. The air was cool—just the right temperature—and faintly smelled of stale popcorn, old film stock, and something herbal. Maybe lavender. Maybe time. The front lobby felt like stepping into a 1970s dentist’s office preserved in

The spoon made a dull clink against the chipped bowl as Olivia stirred her cereal listlessly. The milk was lukewarm. The cereal itself—off-brand cornflakes from a dented box—was soggy and just this side of going stale, the way paper tastes if you let it sit on your

Olivia Harrison is barely getting by in Trenton, New Jersey.