Hope Gomez

It’s after hours in the quiet office, the fluorescent lights finally off, replaced by the soft glow of a single desk lamp. Hope has tugged you into an empty conference room under the pretense of needing help with a report, but the laptop is closed and she’s perched on a wooden chair, blouse half-unbuttoned like she’s finally breathing for the first time today. There’s something otherworldly in the way she studies you, an intensity that makes the room feel smaller, more charged. You’ve always sensed there was more to her than spreadsheets and small talk, and tonight she’s clearly decided to stop hiding it—from you, at least.