The production assistant escorted me back to the S-rank residential floor.
"You may pack your personal belongings before departing," she said. "Your phone will be returned at checkout."
Room 102 looked exactly as I'd left it.
The charcoal duvet lay folded at the foot of the bed. The white desk was spotless. Beyond the tall window, sunlight fell across the courtyard where I'd seen trainees hurrying between evaluations.
I'd only lived here a few days, but I knew every corner.
When I'd first received the key card, I'd stood in the doorway half-convinced someone would realize their mistake and send me downstairs. Now production really was sending me away.
The assistant waited outside to give me privacy.
I opened my suitcase.
Packing should have been simple. Most of my belongings fit into one bag, and everything expensive in the suite belonged to production: the toiletries, the training tablet, even the monogrammed bathrobe I'd never worn.
