Another woman entered, mocha skin, elegant, radiant. She carried a kind of warmth that diffused tension before it even had time to rise.

“Hi, I’m Ayana,” she said. “Just started today. The boss told me to introduce myself to everyone.”

“Tony.”

He stood by the window, watching her reflection. It glowed, soft, inviting. He turned to face her slowly.

“My bad. Just deep in thought.”

He reached out to shake her hand. His fingers softened as they met hers. Ayana smiled warmly. The ring on his finger cooled slightly, but pulsed beneath the surface.

“Please,” he gestured to the seat across from him.

“Thanks.”

“This sounds corny, but… tell me about yourself.”

“I’m Ayana Belair. Born in the Virgin Islands, moved here when I was five. Went to Spelman for my undergrad, UT Knoxville for my Master’s.”

“Boo…” Tony grinned playfully.

“Oh no, no, no. I know you didn’t just boo my alma mater!”

“I’m from the west part, the best part, University of Memphis.”

“Boy, bye. Y’all not even in the same league. Don’t forget November sixth, 2010, we tapped that ass fifty to fourteen! First day here, and I already got a hater? I swear…”

She laughed again. And for the first time that day, Tony cracked a real smile.

“Okay, okay. You got me there.”

“I gotta make my rounds, but I’m on this floor. I’ll come back and talk more shit with you later, Tone. Tony’s such a stuck-up name.”

“Cool with me, Yana. Have a good one.”

She rose, still laughing, and left, closing the door gently behind her.

Midday.

Instead of heading to his usual lunch spot, Tony hopped into his car and drove straight to the gym.

He stepped out of the vehicle with more certainty than he felt. One foot, then the other. Chin up. Shoulders squared. The midday crowd buzzed inside, but he found a treadmill tucked in the corner.

He slipped in his headphones, took a deep breath, and started walking. Left. Right. Left. Right. Each step lighter than the last, like he was leaving something behind. Something heavy.

He closed his eyes and let his mind drift.

In the dream, Tony stood inside a plush VIP club, private section and all. Velvet ropes. Gold accents. Bottle girls floating like ghosts. And there, lounging in the booth with a drink already in hand, was his reflection, tailored, cocky, and sharp as a razor.

“I didn’t know yo’ bitch ass liked to club,” the reflection said with a grin. “Let alone chase some pussy.”

Tony stepped closer. The reflection raised a brow and scoffed when Tony extended his hand.

“Nah, playa. We ain’t like that yet.” He snapped his fingers. Two women appeared instantly,gorgeous, glowing, and handed them both drinks.

“Don’t think of this as some date type shit. Just vibe,” the reflection said. He took a slow sip. “Your soft-hearted ass still ain’t figured it out yet, huh?”

Tony scowled. “Figure what? All you’ve done is curse me out, call me names, and dress me.”

“Like a bitch,” the reflection interrupted.

“I’m about sick of your shit,” Tony said, fists balling, body tensing. “I swear to fuck, if you say one more slick thing, I’ll beat your fucking ass.”

He stepped forward. The reflection leaned back, exposing his neck and smirking.

“DO IT THEN, BITCH! DO IT! I DARE YOU!”

Tony hesitated. Then slowly, he let go of the tension, picked up the glass, and drank.

“Why don’t you tell me something real for once?” he said. “I feel… I feel,”

“Pissed off. Frustrated. Mad,” the reflection said, finishing the sentence.

Tony nodded slowly. “Like I wanna blow shit up. Blow everything the fuck up.”

“That’s it.” The reflection’s smirk widened. “You’re almost there, Bitch.” He raised his own glass. “Now, since you don’t know your name yet, tell me this: Who are you?”

“Anthony Lamar Stevens.”

The reflection nodded solemnly.

“My boy, we still got work to do.”

The treadmill jolted under Tony’s feet. The heat from the ring scorched his skin, ripping him awake.