I was still rattled from the elevator fiasco. My legs felt weirdly weightless, like I’d left half my nerves stuck between floors. But here I was, sitting in the stuffy conference room with the usual suspects, listening to Gerald’s rant about “operational synergy.” You’d think a near-death experience might buy me a break from synergy metrics. Apparently not.

  “—and if we can’t boost synergy by five percent this quarter, our throughput will stall,” Gerald was saying, tapping a folder against the table for emphasis. Flickering fluorescent lights cast spastic shadows across his face, making him look more intense than usual. “We can’t just blame the building’s power surges for inefficiency.”

  Trevor sat on my right, doodling on a notepad. He angled it slightly so I could see a caricature of Gerald as a giant mouth devouring tiny stick figures labeled “employees.” Ordinarily, that might have made me stifle a laugh, but my nerves were still on edge. The overhead lights flickered again, and I half-expected them to wink out completely.

  Claire, arms folded, stood near the head of the table. She was calm as ever, though tension lined her brow. Barry sat at the far end, his stoic gaze pinned on Gerald, probably counting how many times the word “synergy” popped up. Izzy hovered by the door, biting her lip, occasionally shooting worried glances at the overhead lights. Ned was there, too, tapping his pen incessantly, eyes flicking to the hallway every time a weird noise echoed from beyond.

  I licked my lips, trying to ignore the aftertaste of adrenaline that still clung to my tongue. The day is just getting started, I reminded myself. If a half-broken elevator hadn’t spelled doom, maybe synergy metrics would.

  Gerald cleared his throat, launching into another bullet point. “So, we’ll reorganize tasks to ensure minimal downtime. Any questions?”

  Crash! The door flew open, nearly smacking Izzy in the face. Jacob stumbled in, panting, his hair a chaotic mess. “Guys,” he wheezed, “you need to see this.”

  Gerald jerked his head up, irritation etched into every line of his features. “Jacob. We’re in the middle of a meeting.”

  Jacob shook his head frantically. “Yeah, well, so is the entire planet. Something’s happening—like, really happening.” He glanced around, noticing he had everyone’s attention, then blurted, “Weird lights outside, in the sky. Crazy news reports. It’s all over the building TVs, too.”

  Trevor abandoned his doodle, eyebrows raised. “Wait, wait. You mean, like… more than flickering lights in here?”

  Jacob nodded, swallowing hard. “Way more. The security guard downstairs had a portable TV on, and—look, it’s not just this building. The sky’s going nuts.”

  Gerald frowned. “We do not have time for conspiracy theories. This synergy—”

  “Shut it, Gerald,” Barry said quietly, surprising everyone. “Let him talk.”

  Jacob took a deep, shaky breath, then gestured at the small wall-mounted TV in the corner. “Just—turn that on. Please.”

  Gerald looked annoyed, but Claire stepped forward before he could object. She grabbed the remote from the table, clicked the TV on. Static greeted us first, crackling in time with the overhead flickers. Then, after a hiss of white noise, the channel stabilized into a local news broadcast.

  “…continuing coverage of bizarre auroras over the Pacific Northwest…” The anchor’s voice sounded equal parts professional and rattled. “…unprecedented in color and scope. Residents report green, purple, and even orange streaks across the sky. Meanwhile, NASA confirms strange readings from orbit. Experts can’t explain these anomalies—”

  Trevor mouthed, orange auroras? to me, baffled. I shrugged, equally mystified.

  A live shot replaced the anchor: swirling ribbons of color danced across the gray Seattle skyline, ghostly and mesmerizing. The camera shook as if whoever was filming couldn’t quite believe it. The news ticker at the bottom read: “BREAKING: Global Weather Disturbances, Reports of Animal Panic.”

  Ned’s pen tapping froze. Izzy leaned forward, eyes wide. “That’s… real?”

  Jacob let out a half-laugh, half-sob. “Told you. It’s on every channel. Animals are acting weird; I heard something about dogs howling at midday, birds flocking in spirals, that kind of thing.”

  Barry crossed his arms, frowning at the footage. “Could be some freak solar storm, right?” But there was doubt in his eyes. The anchor mentioned “astronaut sightings of anomalies near Earth’s orbit.”

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  “Astronauts at the International Space Station report glimpses of an unidentified pattern or distortion—” the anchor continued, voice quivering. “This is purely speculative at this time, but NASA is investigating.”

  The broadcast cut to a shaky clip that looked like it’d been filmed through a station window: faint lights shimmered among the stars, forming a bizarre shape too fleeting to discern. My stomach dropped. It’s not just a local glitch, I realized, a chill creeping down my spine.

  Gerald, silent for once, glared at the TV like it had personally insulted him. “This… must be some hoax,” he muttered weakly.

  Claire muted the broadcast, turning back to us. “We can’t confirm hoax or not, but we can confirm it’s bigger than our building’s power surges.”

  Jacob nodded, exhaling in relief that people were finally listening. “I saw the sky outside the windows downstairs. Looks like a rainbow on steroids. People in the lobby were freaking out, some saying they felt the ground hum. I…I had to check if you guys knew.”

  Trevor whistled low. “So it’s not just us or the elevator from hell. The entire world’s losing it.” He tapped a quick message on his phone, only to frown at the screen. “No signal. Great.”

  I glanced at the conference room window. It overlooked a row of office towers, usually a mundane view. But sure enough, I could see faint streaks of purplish light crossing the gloom of Seattle’s sky. My heart skipped a beat, a weird mixture of awe and dread. This wasn’t normal. Not by a long shot.

  Gerald exhaled noisily, trying to regain control of the room. “All right, so… we have some bizarre atmospheric phenomenon. We can’t let it derail—”

  “Gerald,” Claire cut in, voice tight. “Look around. The building’s half-functional, the elevator nearly killed Ethan and Trevor, and now the sky’s staging a freak light show. This is derailed.”

  He bristled, about to retort, but Barry rapped his knuckles on the table. “We should figure out what’s going on, or how to handle it if this escalates.”

  Jacob, nerves still raw, pointed at the flickering overhead lamp. “What if that’s connected? Like, that hum we keep hearing is part of the bigger… cosmic glitch or whatever.”

  Trevor cracked a grin, but it was forced. “Cosmic glitch. Now there’s a synergy metric I can get behind.”

  A short, tense silence followed. Ned shifted uncomfortably, pen tapping resuming with renewed vigor. Izzy rubbed her arms, eyes flicking to the corners of the ceiling like she expected it to cave in.

  “Let’s not jump to cosmic conclusions,” I said, though my voice wavered. “But we can’t ignore the signs. Maybe we should, I don’t know, plan an emergency exit or check if we can leave the building if it gets worse.”

  Gerald rolled his eyes. “That’s fear talking. We can’t all panic. Let’s stay calm and see if the anomalies pass.”

  “Because ignoring the news will definitely fix the sky,” Trevor muttered under his breath.

  Claire took a steadying breath. “All right. For now, let’s gather updates. People can check phones, though the signal might be spotty. If this persists, we might consider letting employees go home for the day. Safety first.”

  Gerald looked like he wanted to argue but ended up just pressing his lips together in a tight line. Maybe even he sensed the uselessness of synergy metrics when the sky was turning purple. I propped an elbow on the table, my mind spinning through a dozen scenarios. Strange storms, NASA anomalies, flickering building power, that weird hum… The day was shaping up to be far weirder than we realized.

  Jacob slumped into a chair, relief in his eyes that at least the group was taking him seriously. Izzy grabbed a notepad, pen trembling in her grip as she tried to jot down bullet points of what we’d seen. Barry returned to his stoic posture, scanning the window now and then. Trevor resumed doodling, this time scribbling lightning bolts across a cartoon Earth. Ned stared at the table, eyes distant, as if he was trying to compute the probabilities of cosmic meltdown.

  The overhead lights dimmed again, blinking twice. A wave of dizziness washed over me. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing my pulse to stay steady. Focus, Ethan. If the building’s going to go nuts, you need to keep it together.

  It was then I felt it: a subtle thrum, deeper than the usual hum of electricity. My ears popped as though pressure shifted. I blinked away the spots in my vision, glancing around to see if anyone else noticed. Trevor, Barry, Claire—they all looked normal, albeit concerned. Jacob was fiddling with his phone. Ned stared into space. Gerald was scowling at a chart. No one seemed to feel what I did.

  Then I spotted it. Floating above the conference table, faint as a reflection at first—a swirl of lines that defied geometry, shimmering with a translucent glow. My heart jolted. That’s not a reflection. It flickered like a glitching hologram, shapes twisting in fractal patterns. An alien symbol, that was the only way to describe it. My breath caught, panic surging in my chest.

  I opened my mouth to say something, but the moment I tried, a spike of pain lanced through my skull, so sudden and fierce I nearly cried out. The room spun; the overhead lights seemed to warp and grow brighter, though I couldn’t tell if that was real or just me losing it.

  No one else reacted. I glanced at Trevor—he was scribbling. Claire was flipping through phone signals. Why didn’t they see the swirling lines?

  This can’t be real, my mind sputtered. Another wave of pain smashed into me, doubling me over. I clutched the table’s edge with white-knuckled fingers. The alien symbol flickered in and out, an impossibility that sent electric pulses of agony down my spine. Move, talk, something…

  “Ethan?” Izzy’s voice, faint and muffled. I tried to straighten. Another jolt tore through my skull. My vision tunneled. My lungs fought for air.

  Through the haze, I noticed the symbol’s final flicker. Then it vanished, leaving only that deep ache behind my eyes.

  No…no, no. My grip slackened, and the last thing I saw was Trevor’s startled face, and Claire leaping to her feet. The floor rushed up to meet me as the swirling darkness swallowed my consciousness.

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