Unraveled

Chapter 2: Welcome to the Jungle

Agatha moved through the firm's sleek, gleaming halls with her usual quiet intensity, her eyes locked forward as she closed in on the glass-walled conference room. Her fingers flickered subtly at her sides, an unconscious dance she could never quite tame. The restless energy was always there, simmering beneath her composed exterior, just out of reach.

It was a trademark of hers, something she knew people noticed but never dared to comment on. Her fingers had drafted ruthless agreements, shredded defense strategies, and left her opponents exposed in the aftermath. Now, as she neared the room of trembling associates, they moved again, eager for something—someone—to take apart.

Inside the glass walls, the fresh-faced associates stood in awkward clusters, their eyes darting through the glass as she approached. Even through the thick glass, she could sense their discomfort, the low hum of whispers breaking the otherwise tense silence.

They'd heard the stories.

Of course, they had.

No one applied to work here for the prestige of the other partners—formidable as they were in their own right. Everyone knew the truth: if you survived a year under her roof, you were cut out for the relentless grind of the law. This firm was her domain, her garden, and she meticulously weeded out the weak.

Agatha didn't just demand excellence; she cultivated it. She pushed, tested, and tore apart those who couldn't keep up, leaving only the strongest to thrive. And every associate in that room knew it—they weren't just here to learn; they were here to survive her.

Agatha's lips twitched into the barest hint of a smile, her eyes glinting with a predatory gleam. This was her favorite part—the feeling of being watched, the knowledge that they feared her long before she ever spoke. It was why she'd insisted on the glass-walled conference room the moment she became a partner. For this exact reason. So everyone could see her, circling like a predator, while her prey sat inside, trapped.

It was more than a room—it was a stage. And she controlled the performance from the moment she stepped into view.

Her fingers stilled as she reached the door, hovering momentarily before she gripped the handle and pushed it open. The atmosphere in the room shifted instantly, thickening with the kind of tension she thrived on. Every head turned toward her, their eyes glued to her as she walked to the front of the room. Some stared with wide-eyed anticipation, others with barely concealed dread.

At least twenty faces, fresh and eager, all waiting for her to speak. Fresh graduates from Ivy League law schools, handpicked for their brilliance and potential. This firm only took the best—on paper, at least. But Agatha knew better. By the end of the year, less than half of these hopefuls would still be standing. The rest would be weeded out, broken by the relentless pressure she thrived on. Only one or two might prove worthy of her time, worthy of her trust to actual work a case.

As she reached the front of the room, she let her gaze sweep across them, lingering just long enough on each face to watch the anxiety ripple through them. They wanted to impress her. They needed to impress her. And she knew that fear would be their greatest motivator—or their undoing.

Agatha let the silence hang, watching the tension rise, her fingers moving again at her sides. They were waiting, and she always enjoyed making them sweat.

"Welcome to Calderu, Wu-Gulliver, Kale, and Harkness," she said breaking the silence.

Agatha's eyes swept across the room, a practiced, unimpressed gaze moving from one young face to the next. Designer suits on young men with haircuts far too expensive for their salaries, no doubt paid for by their parents. Women in skirts and dresses that screamed sorority more than law firm, posturing like they had something to prove. Agatha had a knack for sniffing out potential with just a glance, but as her eyes dragged across the room, she felt nothing.