the smuggler’s bible

Ricki

Ricki taps the little arrow and a list of tasks appears under the heading ‘urgent.’

“All right,” she says. “Not that bad, I guess. Not good, but—okay, wait a second. What’s this?”

A second arrow blinks halfway down beside ‘extremely urgent.’ The label itself glows pale orange.

Ricki sits quietly, contemplating the situation. She sighs and presses the button. Her phone chirps in distress as it struggles to load the branching flyouts. Searing orange light floods her cubicle.

In the morning, all they find is a small pile of salt crystals beside a full cup of coffee. Ice cold.