Leah arrived early. The office lights were still dim, the skyline outside washed in gray. Coffee steamed on her desk as she arranged files by habit, each folder aligned perfectly. The routine steadied her; order was the only thing that didn't shift beneath Adrian Voss's gaze.
By eight, the glass doors opened with their usual whisper. He entered without a word, coat over one arm, eyes already moving through a day that hadn't started for anyone else.
"Morning, sir," she said quietly.
He didn't answer—just set a folder on her desk. "Schedule for the board review. I want the full financial brief rewritten by noon. Numbers from last quarter only."
She nodded, fingers already on the keyboard.
He turned to leave, paused. "You skipped breakfast again."
The words were casual, almost careless. But she looked up, startled. "I—how did you know?"
He didn't meet her eyes. "You type slower when you haven't eaten."
The door shut behind him.
Her hands froze over the keyboard. She told herself it was nothing—he noticed everything, that was his job—but her pulse said otherwise.
By noon, she'd rewritten the report twice. When she handed it to him, his sleeves were rolled up, tie loose, eyes on the monitor. He took the papers without looking up.
"Sit."
She hesitated, then obeyed.
He scanned the report. "Good," he said finally. "Concise. But you double-spaced the last section."
"I thought it would read clearer."
"It reads like you're uncertain." His tone didn't change. "Don't apologize on paper."
She bit back a reply. He looked at her then—really looked. "You learn fast," he said. "Faster than most."
"Thank you, sir."
"Don't thank me. Earn it again tomorrow."
He stood, closing the file, and moved past her toward the window. The skyline glared back at him—Helmsworth in full light, cold and gleaming.
"You still live in that hostel?" he asked, voice quieter now.
"Yes. It's temporary."
"Find better," he said. "This city eats people who rest too close to the ground."
She didn't answer. There was a faint reflection of her in the glass, standing behind him, small but steady.
After a moment, he said, "You can go."
She gathered her things, heartbeat steady, but as she turned to leave, he spoke again.
"Leah."
She stopped.
He didn't look away from the window. "When you walk into a room, stop looking like you're asking permission to exist."
The silence stretched. Then she nodded, though he couldn't see it.
Outside, the hallway buzzed with movement again—assistants, interns, voices layered in purpose. Leah exhaled slowly. Something had shifted that morning, imperceptible but real.
By evening, she sat by her hostel window, laptop open, replaying the words she shouldn't remember. You type slower when you haven't eaten.
The city outside was still awake. Somewhere high above, Adrian Voss was probably still working, reshaping numbers and futures.
She wondered if he ever ate at all.