Page 123 of The Yoga Teacher

Marcus stood to walk her out, smiling warmly. “I appreciated Daniel’s call.”

Hannah stopped walking.

The words didn’t make sense at first. They echoed in her ears without meaning.

“I’m sorry,” she said slowly, her voice catching in her throat. “What did you just say?”

Marcus blinked, mid-step. “Daniel. He reached out a few weeks ago—sent a whole package, actually. Data, testimonials, program summaries. He really made your case.”

The hallway went silent around her. Or maybe the world did. Hannah’s hand tightened on her bag strap.

“He called you?” she asked, quieter now. “About me?”

“Yes,” Marcus said, a little more carefully. “I assumed you knew.”

“I didn’t.”

Her heart was pounding now—hot and fast and all wrong.

Marcus seemed to sense the shift. “I hope that wasn’t out of bounds to mention—”

“It’s fine,” she said quickly. Too quickly. “Thank you again. For your time.”

He offered a polite nod, but she was already walking away.

Her heels echoed off the marble as she reached the elevator. She pressed the button with more force than necessary and stared straight ahead, jaw clenched.

Daniel had called.

Had made her case.

By the time the elevator doors slid shut, her pulse was pounding in her ears, her throat tight with something she couldn’t name.

He was still laying the path beneath her feet.

And she hadn’t even seen it.

She didn’t remember the elevator ride down. Didn’t remember the walk to the parking garage. Just the silence in her car, the breath she forgot to let out, the slow unraveling of something too tangled to name.

Daniel had made calls for her. Behind her back. While she was grieving, while she was building a new life from the ashes of what he burned—he had been laying stones in front of her.

Helping her succeed.

She stared out the taxi window on the way back to the airport.

The Denver skyline receded behind her like something in a dream she didn’t trust anymore.

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The bar was loud. Too loud for reflection, too loud for doubt. Which, Hannah suspected, was exactly why Morgan had brought her here.

“Younailedthat interview,” Morgan shouted over the thump of the bass, thrusting a celebratory shot glass into Hannah’s hand. “Drink it. You earned this.”

Hannah gave her a weak smile, clinked their glasses, and tipped the tequila back. It burned the way it was supposed to. Sharp. Fast. Temporary.

The lights spun lazily overhead, catching on sequins and glass and flushed faces. Morgan was already turning toward the dance floor, pulling someone into a laugh, a twirl, a moment.

Hannah leaned against the bar, her smile fading as quickly as it had come.

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