Chapter 2 — Corporate Cage

Ethan

Ethan Caldwell’s office was a study in muted perfection. The glass walls gleamed, reflecting the pale grey of polished floors and the lifeless beige of ergonomic furniture, their pristine surfaces offering nothing to hold on to. The steady hum of computers and the rhythmic tapping of keyboards orchestrated the room into a symphony of monotony. Overhead, the fluorescent lights buzzed faintly, casting a cold, sterile glow on the polished surfaces. The air carried the faint scent of printer ink and stale coffee, underscored by the artificial chill of central air conditioning. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the city sprawled in chaotic brilliance, skyscrapers stabbing upward into the sky. Streams of yellow cabs and clusters of pedestrians darted across intersections below, alive with movement. But inside, on the thirty-second floor of this sleek fortress, that vibrant noise was reduced to a distant hum—muted, like everything else in Ethan’s life.

Ethan adjusted the cuffs of his tailored shirt, feeling the smooth leather of his watch slipping slightly along his wrist. The faint tick-tick-tick of its hands seemed louder than usual, a measured rhythm that matched the heaviness in his chest. On his computer screen, an email sat open—Subject: Promotion Opportunity—the bold black font practically daring him to click “Reply.” His finger hovered over the mouse, but instead, with a sharp exhale, he minimized the window. The guilt of indecision settled over him like a second skin, the weight of expectation pressing against his ribs.

A memory flickered unbidden into his mind. The metallic click of a camera shutter, the faint chemical tang of developing film in a darkroom, his professor’s voice announcing his winning photograph to the applause of his peers. For a fleeting moment, the warm glow of pride he’d felt back then returned—until the sound of a phone ringing in the distance snapped him back to the present, to the polished floors and lifeless screens.

“Caldwell! Earth to Caldwell!”

Ethan turned his head just in time to see Mark Reynolds leaning casually against the corner of his desk. Mark’s tie was slightly askew, his sandy blonde hair tousled, and his grin was as irreverently charming as ever. He brought a burst of energy into the room—an unofficial antidote to the sterile environment.

“You’ve been staring at that screen so hard, I’m afraid it’s going to catch fire,” Mark teased, just loud enough to draw a few chuckles from nearby desks. “Let me guess, you’re crafting the world’s most exciting pivot table?”

Ethan allowed himself a faint smirk but didn’t respond. He leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking softly beneath him, and folded his arms across his chest.

“Ah, the silent treatment. Very mysterious.” Mark pulled up the chair across from Ethan and plopped into it, his foot tapping lightly against the desk leg. “So, what’s going on? You’ve been weirdly quiet today. Not that you’re a comedian most days, but still. Spill.”

Ethan’s gaze flitted back to his screen for a moment before he answered. “The promotion,” he said quietly, the words weighed down by their own gravity. “They’ve officially offered it.”

Mark let out a low whistle, sitting up straighter. “San Francisco, huh? Fancy office, bigger paycheck, new city. You should be doing cartwheels down the hall.”

Ethan’s jaw tightened, and he shifted in his chair. “It’s not that simple.”

“It’s exactly that simple,” Mark countered, though his grin softened into something more thoughtful. “You’re Mr. Logical, right? The guy with the five-year plan and color-coded goals? This promotion is, like, perfectly aligned with all that.”

Ethan didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he turned his gaze to the enormous window behind Mark, where sunlight glinted off the distant Hudson River. The view was stunning, a glittering reminder of all he’d worked for. But it also felt like a trap—an elaborate cage that only grew more suffocating the longer he stared.

“Maybe I’m just not sure it’s my plan anymore,” he said finally, his voice quieter than he’d intended. The words sounded foreign and dangerous, like they belonged to someone else.

Mark blinked, clearly caught off guard. “Wow. Okay. That’s... new. So you’re actually thinking about saying no?”

Ethan exhaled sharply through his nose, a humorless laugh escaping him. “I don’t know what I’m thinking. It’s just... this life, this path—it always felt like the right thing. Stable. Predictable. But lately, I don’t know.”

Mark tilted his head, studying him. “What’s really holding you back? The move? The job? Or... your family?”

The mention of family caused Ethan’s fingers to stiffen slightly against the desk. He thought of his father’s proud smile the day he’d gifted Ethan the leather watch at his college graduation. “This is just the beginning,” his father had said, his hand heavy on Ethan’s shoulder. “You’re going to do great things.” The memory felt like a lead weight pressing against his ribs, the watch now a constant reminder of expectations he wasn’t sure he could live up to—or wanted to.

Mark, ever perceptive, leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “Listen, I get it. Your folks probably see you as their golden boy. Perfect grades, perfect job, perfect everything. But you don’t owe them your soul, man. You’ve got to live your life, not the version they scripted for you.”

Ethan’s lips pressed into a thin line. The truth of Mark’s words stung more than he cared to admit. He turned slightly in his chair, glancing down at his wrist where the watch gleamed faintly under the fluorescent light. Its ticking felt almost accusatory now.

“When was the last time you did something just because you wanted to?” Mark asked suddenly, his voice quieter but no less piercing. “No spreadsheets. No deadlines. Just... you.”

The question landed like a blow. Ethan blinked, the weight of it settling into his chest. When was the last time? College, maybe. That photography competition—the subway performer he’d captured in golden light, the way her music had seemed to blur the edges of the station into something timeless. The memory brought a fleeting pang of joy, followed swiftly by an ache of loss. That part of him felt so far away it was almost unrecognizable.

“I don’t know,” Ethan admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Mark let out an exaggerated sigh, leaning back in his chair. “Well, that’s depressing. Maybe you need to figure that out before you pack up your life for San Francisco.”

Ethan’s gaze drifted over Mark’s shoulder to the vibrant cityscape sprawled beyond the glass. His mind wandered again to the subway—the haunting melody he’d heard just a few days ago. Her voice, sharp and raw, had sliced through the usual clamor, filling the space with something unnameable. Lily, someone had called her. There had been something magnetic about her, something that stirred a flicker of creativity in him, long buried but not quite extinguished.

“You’re quiet again,” Mark observed, snapping him back to the present. “What are you thinking?”

Ethan hesitated. “Nothing,” he lied, his tone carefully neutral. “Just... a lot on my mind.”

Mark didn’t push. Instead, he stood, clapping a hand on Ethan’s shoulder. “Look, I’m not saying you have to figure it all out today. But maybe it’s time to stop overthinking and just... step out of your comfort zone. Life’s messy. That’s kind of the point.”

Ethan managed a small, fleeting smile. “You really know how to cheer a guy up.”

“Hey, that’s my job,” Mark replied with a grin. “Now, lunch. I’m thinking tacos. The good ones from the food truck, not the cafeteria abominations.”

Ethan shook his head but couldn’t suppress the faint smile. “Go ahead. I’ve got some things to finish up here.”

Mark gave him a mock salute before heading off, leaving Ethan alone with the faint hum of the office around him. The promotion email still sat minimized on his screen, its bold subject line waiting for him to respond.

But for the first time in a long time, Ethan didn’t feel like making a decision. He felt like stepping outside the carefully calibrated lines of his life, if only for a moment. Somewhere in the chaos beyond these walls, a new rhythm seemed to be calling to him—a haunting melody he couldn’t ignore.