Twenty-one stories of glass and steel, the Wallis-Kaufmann name etched into the marble above the revolving doors in clean, silver lettering. The morning sun caught the windows and turned them into mirrors—blinding, impersonal.

Your reflection stared back.

Hair still slightly damp from the frantic shower you'd taken. The blazer you'd ironed twice. A resume you'd printed on proper paper, not the cheap stuff from the corner shop.

The doors hummed as they turned.