She was branded a bitter feminist who couldn’t accept how the world had changed. Even that early, the murmurings were there, if Naomi had bothered listening. Women were being gently urged towards retirement, passed over for promotions. Cochran was on the horizon for the presidential run even then, building on his work in the Senate to limit abortion and introduce the additional child tax. He was whispering poison about his running mates, especially the women.

Global temperatures were already at projections for 2060—decades too soon—up two degrees Celsius. Carbon emissions, and Brazil deciding to sell off the lungs of the Amazon—what hadn’t burned—one tree at a time, was worth the money. The deforestation was coupled with a massive release of methane during the rapid tundra melt of the 2020s, which caused a larger positive feedback in warming than any of the pre-2025 models had accounted for.

In the green room, Valerie would already be sipping lemon- and mint-infused water. To anyone else, she’d look perfectly calm and in control. But Naomi would see the way her long fingers would smooth non-existent wrinkles on the trousers of her dark purple suit. The way she’d blink just a little too long, as if centring herself for the extra half a second.

“Naomi?” came a voice from outside.

Naomi’s lips thinned. Evan. She hadn’t seen him since Christmas and hadn’t spoken to him alone since the night after her master’s graduation. She stood, leaving the orange light and locking the entrance to the tunnel.

The crowds had thinned, but people lingered near the stalls, the dark-clad security guards slowly ushering them towards the doors.

“Valerie was asking for you,” Evan said, keeping his distance. His features were as hard for her to read as ever. They’d gone to a graduation party and he’d told her about his new job at NASA in astronaut health at the Kennedy Space Center. The job was junior as he’d just started his PhD, but NASA were even helping a bit with funding while he worked. By all accounts, despite working and studying he’d end up finishing his terminal degree in record time.

She’d drunk just enough that she hadn’t been able to temper her response. She’d been an asshole, but hadn’t known how to apologise, and the time between had lengthened into an awkwardness that couldn’t be breached. Even now, seeing him with that NASA badge emblazoned on the chest of his polo shirt was still a reminder that, though she loved her job, she still wasn’t where she wanted to be.

“Thanks,” she said, annoyed at her own curtness.

Evan made to leave. Froze. Naomi saw it a second after he did.