As you were leaving

Halfway to the exit, a man she half-recognised put a hand up to stop her. "Hilary, perfect," he said. "Do you think you can help me with something?" While the answer was still softening in her mouth, he led her into a meeting room, the blinds down, the lights low. She imagined a bag slipped over her head. Laid out on the table was a wooden boy, all in pieces, his eyes flicking this way and that. "I can't work it out," the man said, pulling anxiously at his lanyard. "I can't get him back together."