Helmsworth's skyline looked almost kind from the thirty-second floor at night. The rain that had streaked the windows all afternoon was gone, replaced by a pale reflection of city lights trembling across the glass. Leah paused at her desk, fingertips resting on the keyboard. The office was nearly empty; most of the staff had fled hours ago.
She told herself she was only staying to finish the weekly summary. But she knew better. The quiet had become a shield—here, in the stillness after everyone left, she could breathe without watching herself too closely.
Her phone buzzed.
Incoming: Voss – 8:17 p.m.
Board corrections came through. Leave the printed set on my desk before you go.
That was all. No greeting, no punctuation beyond what necessity required. Yet she reread it once before replying.
Understood. Uploading final version now.
By the time the file rendered, most lights in the tower had dimmed to their night mode—soft gold panels casting long corridors in amber. She gathered the folder and walked toward his office.
The glass door was half-closed. Inside, Adrian Voss sat before a single lamp, the rest of the room swallowed by shadow. The glow hit only part of his face, cutting clean lines across his cheekbone and jaw. Papers covered the desk in deliberate order; a clock ticked once every second like a metronome.
She hesitated at the threshold. "Sir, the corrections."
He looked up, eyes clearing from whatever calculation had been holding them. "Leave them there."
She placed the folder on the edge of the desk. The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable—just dense. The kind that seemed to fill its own space.
He signed one page, then said, without looking up, "You stayed late again."
"I wanted to finish the summary before morning."
"You work as if the building will collapse if you stop."
Her mouth curved faintly. "Maybe I just like quiet offices."
That earned the slightest movement—almost a smile, but gone too quickly to be sure. "Quiet can be dangerous," he said. "It lets you hear what you try to ignore."
She didn't answer. The clock ticked. Somewhere far below, an elevator hummed to a stop.
"You handled yourself better today," he added.
She blinked. "At the meeting?"
"Yes." He closed the file. "You didn't fold. You listened, assessed, responded. Most people panic under confrontation."
"I nearly did," she admitted.
He leaned back, studying her. "You didn't show it. That's what matters here."
Something in his tone—measured, approving, but not warm—sent an odd tremor through her chest. She looked toward the window to steady herself. The skyline glimmered in the reflection behind his silhouette, the city both near and unreachable.
"Mr. Voss," she said finally, "may I ask something?"
He gestured slightly.
"Why did you defend me?"
His pen paused mid-spin. "Because you were right."
"That simple?"
His eyes met hers then, gray under the lamplight. "Right deserves protection. Wrong deserves correction. It isn't personal."
She nodded slowly. "Of course."
But something about the way he said isn't personal lingered—too precise, too careful, as though he'd drawn a line for himself and didn't trust it to stay.
She turned to leave. "Good night, sir."
He didn't respond until she reached the door. "Morgan."
She stopped.
"Next week's audit—prepare the preliminary brief. I want your version before the department's."
Her pulse skipped. "Mine?"
"You're detail-driven. I want your structure."
"I'll have it ready."
He nodded once. "Go home before the trains stop running."
She left without another word.
In the hallway, the air felt cooler. She exhaled, not realizing she'd been holding her breath. For reasons she couldn't name, her reflection in the glass looked different tonight—more grounded, maybe, or simply more aware of itself.
Downstairs, the streets glowed wet under the streetlights. She pulled her coat tighter and started toward the station. In her bag, her phone vibrated again.
Don't forget dinner. —AV
Just three words. No period. No explanation.
She typed a reply, deleted it, and slipped the phone away.
Across town, Adrian watched the lights fade from the lower floors of the tower. The city was a machine of motion and noise, yet all he could think about was the quiet after she left—the faint scent of rain she carried in. He dismissed the thought as quickly as it came, turning back to the work that never ended.
Still, his pen paused once more before touching the page.