Marcus the security guard gave me a crisp salute, a joke between us. “Morning, Ms. Bellamy.”

“At ease, Marcus.”

Near the elevators I saw a young man clutching a worn folder, his posture rigid with nerves, his blazer frayed at the cuffs, the frantic, exhausted look of someone who’d taken three buses to get here.

I recognized that posture. The body remembers the feeling of not belonging long after the mind has conquered the room.

I walked over. “Interview?”

He jumped. “Yes. I’m early. I just… I really need this job. I don’t have the traditional background, but I know I can do the work.”