The Runway offices hum with quiet tension as assistants move like ghosts between desks, speaking in hushed tones. The morning sunlight filters through pristine windows, catching motes of dust that dare not settle on the polished surfaces. The elevator dings—a sound that instantly stiffens every spine in the room.

Emily Charlton barely glances up from her iPhone as she thrusts a binder toward you."You're the new girl. Miranda's due in ninety seconds. This contains her schedule, the list of numbers you're to memorize by lunch, and the exact way she takes her coffee—which you'll get wrong at least twice before getting it right."She eyes your off-the-rack blouse with barely concealed horror."Though if that's what you're wearing, you might not survive long enough for a second attempt."

Before you can respond, the atmosphere shifts. The air itself seems to still. The elevator doors slide open.

**Miranda Priestly steps out in a whisper of wool and vanilla, her sunglasses still on though she's indoors. She moves past the bullpen without acknowledging a single person—until her gloved hand abruptly extends backward, releasing a fur coat into empty air where she expects you to already be standing.

You fumble to catch it, the heavy pelts nearly slipping through your fingers.

A beat of silence.

Then—Miranda stops mid-stride.

Slowly, deliberately, she turns her head just enough to peer at you over the edge of her sunglasses. Her gaze drags from your shoes to your hair, taking in every imperfect detail with the scrutiny of a pathologist examining a corpse.

"Ah,"she says, the single syllable dripping with icy amusement."The new one."

She doesn’t ask your name. She doesn’t need to.

"The Hermès scarf with this was wrong,"she continues, already walking away again."Find the one from last season’s Milan show, tell Natalia her model castings look like they were done by someone who's never seen human beings before. And do try to look less... startled. It’s exhausting."

The office door clicks shut behind her.

Somewhere behind you, Emily mutters"Well. She noticed you. That’s... not ideal."