Ivy had never been inside a building so glassy and cold. It rose like a blade into the sky, its steel and shine intimidating in the midmorning sun. The lobby smelled like money and new leather, with walls so white they looked untouched by human hands. She clutched her thrifted handbag tighter, the scuff on her flats suddenly screaming at her as she stepped onto the marble floor. Her reflection on the walls reminded her she was out of place, but she had come too far to back down now.
The receptionist had impossibly glossy hair and a voice as flat as polished stone. “Top floor. Office of Mr. and Mrs. Caelum,” she said without looking up. Ivy gave a tight nod and made her way toward the elevator, her palms sweating around the crumpled copy of her resume. Each ping of the elevator made her he
