Anita Bonsal glided through the office like she always did-heels clicking in perfect rhythm, skirt hugging her hips just so, lipstick a flawless matte rose. Her hair caught the fluorescent light in soft, expensive waves. Every morning she checked her reflection three times before leaving her apartment, and every evening she touched up before anyone could see a single flaw.

Louise Marlow watched from her cubicle with the same quiet loathing she'd nursed for two years.

That Friday, after the last stragglers left for happy hour, Louise found Anita alone at the mirror in the ladies' room, reapplying gloss with surgical precision.

"Still perfect," Louise said softly.

Anita glanced over with the usual tiny, pitying smile. "Some of us care how we're perceived, Lou."

Louise stepped closer. In her palm was a small silver pendant on a chain-nothing dramatic, just something she'd practiced with for months. She let it catch the light.

"Look at this for a second."