A new notification pinged. 'Lena’s Sanity' has been archived. This action cannot be undone. She looked around the office. Karen was packing up her bag. The intern was putting on his jacket. No one looked at her. No one saw her.

It happened on a Tuesday. The worst day of the week, statistically proven. The CEO, a man named Marcus who used emojis as bullet points, had just assigned her a "quick, no-pressure" project: rebrand the entire company, launch a new customer portal, and migrate seven years of legacy data—all by Friday.

She stared. She had not typed that. She had never typed that. Her hands hovered over the keyboard, frozen.

But shortcuts, she was about to learn, worked both ways.

The "Project Phoenix" board was pristine. Every single task, every subtask, every dependency—all marked complete. All 847 of them. Including the ones she hadn't created yet. Including the ones she would have created next week. Including the ones that belonged to other people's projects.