Margin

Anton arrived at the office at his usual time.

Nothing marked the day as different. His badge worked. His workstation loaded. Messages appeared in his inbox. The surface of routine held.

What had changed was their weight.

Most messages required acknowledgment rather than judgment. Updates replaced questions. Decisions arrived already concluded. He read them, archived them, and moved on.

A meeting he had attended weekly for months appeared on his calendar without his name. The session time remained unchanged. The agenda looked familiar.

Anton noticed the omission and closed the invite.

Later, a document circulated that intersected directly with his work. He read it carefully. The structure was sound. The conclusions were cautious. A line he would have revised remained intact.

No one asked.

Mid-morning, Mira stopped by.

“They’ve reassigned the review queue,” she said.

“To whom?” Anton asked.

She named two people. Both junior. Both careful.

“They asked me to loop you in if needed,” she added.

“If needed,” Anton repeated.

She nodded. “That was the phrase.”

The day progressed without interruption. Calls ended on time. Messages closed cleanly. Work advanced.

Anton observed the movement from the edge.

In the afternoon, Hale passed his desk without stopping. He nodded once, a gesture so brief it might have been habitual.

Anton returned it.

Later, an escalation arrived with his name in the CC field. He opened it, read the thread, and understood immediately where it would stall. He typed a response, then paused.

He deleted it.

The escalation resolved itself two hours later, with a decision he would not have endorsed.

No one mentioned his absence.

As the office quieted, Anton gathered his things. He paused by the whiteboard near the exit, still covered with diagrams from a planning session he had not attended. The handwriting was unfamiliar.

Outside, the evening air felt flat. The street carried its usual noise. The city continued its work without registering him.

Anton walked home aware of the space he now occupied.

He had not been removed. He had been displaced.

The margin was wide enough to stand in.

And narrow enough to be permanent.