Annabeth and the Nine Step Career Plan

Step 5

"Clearly," Lana laughs lightly.

She looks down at the phone again, which prompts Annabeth to ask her if everything is alright.

"He's just being a journalist," she says flippantly, brushing it off, "He's on the scent of some kind of story and is looking for information he thinks I have."

There it is, Annabeth thinks. "Do you?" She tilts her head. "Have it, I mean."

Her supervisor purses her lips for a long moment, the fingers of her hand hovering over certain keys on the device.

"Nothing concrete," she says finally, putting the phone down, "I might as well be spreading rumors."

Annabeth hums, pretending to consider the statement for a few seconds.

"There's always some kind of truth hidden at the source of a rumor, even if it's not the one you expect. And," she says, risking a paper cut by toying with the corner of the approved stack, "In my experience, it can be easier to find evidence when you have an idea of what you're looking for."

Lana leans back into her chair, hair creasing where it presses against her neck.

"Sometimes, Annabeth, you sound like you've lived more years than some of the people on this floor."

She delivers the observation with a thoughtful tone and a half smile, not completely serious, but Annabeth can't help but think that sometimes, it really does feel like that.

Aloud, however, she says, "I hope that's not you calling me old," and pulls a face.

Lana huffs. "You are far too young to be making that joke."

"Didn't you just say I was wise beyond my years?" Annabeth teases, smirking.

"I distinctly remember not using that word," Lana shoots back.

As she and the older woman share a laugh, Annabeth takes a minute to pause, staring out the window and twisting a knot out of her forearm, a consequence of keeping up with her archery practice. Her thoughts drift to her usual topic of choice.

While not as high up as the penthouse, Lana's office still towers over several other skyscrapers in Metropolis, giving Annabeth a bird's eye view of the city. She's come to almost like it, with its vibrant green parks, crisp summer air, and easily navigable streets. And yet, it still doesn't compare to New York City. Metropolis is all straight, neat lines, not minimalistic thank the gods, but sleek, nonetheless. In the daytime, the buildings are practically blinding, white cement and silver windows. Annabeth misses the grittiness of home. Graffitied alleyways, chipped brick, and statues covered in rust as if they were literally steeped in history.

"You know," Lana speaks suddenly, pulling Annabeth out of her architectural reverie, "I read your interview notes from back in May, and you're different than what they wrote you out to be."

Annabeth blinks, focusing in on Lana, and gives another half-shrug.

"Everyone embellishes a little."

"No, not that," Lana says, "I think I was expecting someone a bit more like...Lex."

Annabeth knows this. She knows this because that had been her whole point. She had drafted a version of herself that would give her the greatest chance of making it into the company. Her interview responses, resume, and demeanor had all been a purposeful choice. She knows this. So why does the comparison still feel like a sharp stab to the gut? To be likened to someone she considers a monster in the mortal world feels like a betrayal. Whether one from Lana, or to herself, or to her past, she can't seem to detangle the mess of emotions right away. She doesn't want to let her true feelings show, but they must, at least a little, because Lana sees the look on her face and backtracks immediately.