“The search committee has decided to move in a different direction.”

It was signed by the director of human resources.

Only yesterday, she had called me to say I was their top choice.

I folded the letter back into the envelope.

My fingers were cold.

“Everything alright, Ms. Ava?” Frank asked.

He was watching me from behind his desk, his eyes filled with genuine concern.

“Fine, Frank,” I said, forcing a smile that felt tight. “Thank you.”

I walked to the elevator and pressed the button.

The metal doors opened with a dull, scraping sound.

Inside, the mirror showed my pale face and the wet strands of dark hair sticking to my cheeks.

I got off on the fourth floor and unlocked the door to my apartment.

The air inside was cool and smelled of old paint.

I set my purse on the small kitchen table.

My phone buzzed in my pocket.

I pulled it out and saw an email notification.

It was from the director of the Weyland Gallery in Chelsea.

I had interviewed there on Tuesday, and the meeting had gone beautifully.