The candidate looks young, but all agree that her resume is captivating.

She sits alone, observed threefold by a coterie of HR’s finest, their clipboards slick beneath fluorescent lights, sharpening their knives in anticipation of the questioning to come.

“So tell me,” asks the lead recruiter, his fingers steepled. “What makes you think you’re qualified for this role?”

“I was invited,” the candidate says.

She shuffles her papers, slides the job description from the sheaf like a card trick.

“‘Entry-level position,’” she reads, “‘suitable for recent graduates. Must have 20 years experience’” Her eyes flick up, catch the recruiter’s stare, compel him not to look away. “If this isn’t an invite, then what is?”

He scoffs, but his gaze is locked, like a puppet on a wire. “And how many years could you have been in charge of a growing work-force? You can’t be more than…”

His voice splinters into cacophony. He tries again, and no-one at that table hears a number.

She smiles, then, shows her teeth; he stops trying to explain her apparent youth.

“You are not reasonable people,” she says, “but then, neither am I. In thirty-five minutes we will all leave this room, and you will inform your masters that I am perfect for the position.”

She bites her lip. “I’m sure you’ll find working for me enthralling.”