Not only does my brain scan the environment for crouching tigers, it scans the social environment for cues of danger, real or imagined. And past experience has informed my brain time and time again that danger is everywhere, always, and it’s impossible to tell my limbic system otherwise.

This is why, as I pass through the employee area and make my way to the other side of the building, my heart races, my hands shake, and my throat closes up. The stark white hallway to the conference room is empty, but apparently my brain thinks it’s a life-or-death situation.

I stand there, staring at the shut door and trying to regain control of my body. They’re in there.

One more calming breath, which does nothing to slow my racing heart, and then I’m in.

“Hello. Sorry I’m late.” My voice only shakes a little.

“That’s fine, Jane. Please, have a seat.” Stacey offers me a smile that I think is supposed to be comforting, but my heart is still pounding and a trickle of sweat slips down my side.

I really hope I don’t get pit stains in the middle of all this.

Mother’s voice whispers in my head. Be strong. Don’t screw this up. Stewarts never give up and we never fail. The same things she would say every time I had to do anything important, from a school performance to taking the SATs to applying for college. Like any failure of mine, big or small, would somehow tarnish her success.

The team leaders are waiting for me in a circle of white pillows on the floor. Not bed pillows, but specially designed seating pillows. A custom-made glass table sits in front of them, low to the ground.

“We’re ready when you are,” Blade says. Blade has dark hair and beady eyes and is about twenty-five, my age. I’m pretty sure his real name is John.

I shuffle over to the pillow situated across from them and set my briefcase on the floor, plopping myself down too quickly, which causes my pants to hit the taut fabric of the pillow at just the right angle to make . . . a fart sound. That’s the only way to describe it.

The ensuing silence is an oppressive presence in the room, smothering me in a vise-like grip.

My hot face gets hotter. I clear my throat.

Stacey smiles encouragingly. She’s the nicest one on the team, in her late thirties, with short brown hair and black rimmed glasses.

Sitting on Blade’s right, Drew is completely stone-faced. He’s bald and never smiles and I’m pretty sure he’s actually a cyborg.

Finally, Blade motions with a hand. “Being the focus of attention is something you’ll have to get used to for the position you want. It’s best to get started.”

“Right.” I pull the papers from my case with shaky fingers.