There Is No Lie In This World

I must’ve blacked out for a second.

Or maybe it was just my brain buffering.

Because the next time I opened my eyes, the assistant - my assistant? - was standing in front of me with a glass of water in one hand and a folder in the other, as if both were of equal importance to my survival.

"Miss Roen," she said gently, "I’ve prepared the briefing for today’s transitional meetings. Shall I summarize, or would you prefer to read it in full?"

"I-, what?"

My voice barely worked. I was still sunk in that ridiculous throne of a chair, staring up at her like a child caught sneaking into a VIP lounge.

"I suggest the executive summary first," she said, as if I’d asked. "You must be overwhelmed."

Overwhelmed didn’t begin to cover it. I took the water without thanking her - too numb - and immediately felt guilty. She didn’t seem to mind. She never seemed to mind anything.

"Your attendance has been requested by the internal board," she continued. "They’d like to welcome you in person. Nothing formal. Just handshakes, condolences, reassurances."

I blinked slowly. "I’m not-"

"-ready. I understand." Her tone was sympathetic yet neutral, an impossible mix of sincerity and professional formality, intimate and detached at the same time.