The week that followed unfolded in the same rhythm of discipline and glass.
Emails. Meetings. Data. Coffee.
But beneath the quiet, something had changed — a current running just below the surface of formality.
For Alexander Harrington and Amelia Clarke, proximity was no longer theoretical. It had become routine.
Every Monday morning, they now met in the small strategy room on the twenty-second floor. Amelia would arrive early, laptop open, notes neatly aligned; Alexander would follow a few minutes later — calm, composed, always precise. Their conversations were efficient, focused entirely on the Trust Index pilot, but the air between them held something neither could name: stillness stretched too thin.
He never interrupted her.
She never stumbled when she spoke to him.
And yet both left each meeting slightly unsettled, as if the world's gravity had shifted a degree when the door closed behind them.
It was late Thursday when the shift came.
Manchester was drowning in rain. Sheets of it swept across the windows, the kind of storm that made even the towers seem to blur.
Most employees had already left, their umbrellas bobbing in the street below, but the HR floor still glowed — a handful of lights against the dark.
Amelia sat alone again, headphones in, finishing the week's summary report.
Her blazer hung on the back of her chair, and her blouse sleeves were rolled to the elbow. She looked tired but composed, as always — the quiet perfection of someone who refused to leave a job half-done.
The lights flickered once.
Then again.
She frowned, pulling out her earbuds. The storm outside cracked, thunder vibrating through the glass. A second later — darkness.
The power went out.
For a moment, the entire floor was swallowed by silence. Only the sound of the rain and her own heartbeat filled the space.
"Great," she murmured under her breath, reaching for her phone to use as a flashlight.
"Miss Clarke?"
The voice came from the corridor — low, calm, unmistakable.
She turned, startled.
Alexander stood by the doorway, his outline framed by the faint glow of emergency lights. His jacket was gone, shirt sleeves rolled up, the storm's reflection glimmering on the glass behind him.
"Mr. Harrington," she said quickly, straightening. "I— I didn't realise anyone else was still here."
"I was on a call in the boardroom," he said, walking toward her. "The storm cut the feed. Looks like the backup generator hasn't kicked in yet."
He stopped beside her desk, looking out at the windows, where lightning split the sky into shards. "Half the city's dark," he said quietly.
She followed his gaze. "It's… beautiful, in a strange way."
He glanced at her — surprised by the remark, though his expression softened. "You think so?"
She nodded faintly. "It's the only time Manchester feels like it's standing still."
He smiled — a real smile, small but genuine. "You notice things most people don't."
She hesitated. "I suppose I've always liked quiet moments. They feel honest."
He studied her for a second longer than was necessary — long enough for her to feel it. Then he gestured to her screen. "You were working on the report?"
"Yes, I was finishing the weekly metrics," she said, tucking a loose curl behind her ear. "I can't upload until the servers reboot."
"Then you might as well stop," he said lightly. "You've done enough for today."
"I don't mind staying," she replied, too quickly. "I like finishing what I start."
He gave a faint nod, then stepped closer to her desk, leaning slightly against its edge — not imposing, just present.
"The generator should restore power soon," he said. "But if it doesn't, we'll have to close the building."
For a moment, they stood in silence. The only light came from the city — distant, silver, reflected in his eyes.
Amelia looked down at her hands, forcing calm. The proximity made her pulse race, though she masked it behind professionalism.
"You know," Alexander said quietly, "I don't usually see people still here after hours. Margaret aside."
"I like working late," she said, her voice soft but firm. "It's quiet. No interruptions."
He gave a small chuckle. "I can see that. You don't strike me as someone who needs noise to prove she's busy."
She looked up, a flicker of amusement passing through her eyes. "No, I prefer results."
He tilted his head slightly, studying her again. There was something about the simplicity of her tone — the absence of fear, or flirtation — that disarmed him. Most people tried to impress him. She never did.
"You're not what I expected," he said suddenly.
Her brows lifted slightly. "What did you expect?"
He considered the question, then shook his head faintly. "Someone… less certain. You're very young to speak the way you do."
She smiled faintly, not defensive — simply truthful. "I learned to sound certain long before I felt it."
That made him pause. A rare honesty, spoken without drama.
Before he could reply, the lights flickered back to life, flooding the room in white. The hum of electricity filled the silence they'd left behind.
Amelia blinked, as if waking from a dream. "Looks like the power's back."
"Yes," he said quietly. But his voice didn't sound as composed as usual.
He straightened, buttoned his cuffs again, restoring the invisible distance between them. "Make sure you save your work before you leave. I'll have security check the floors before closing."
"I will. Goodnight, Mr. Harrington."
He paused at the door. "Goodnight, Miss Clarke."
Outside, the rain began to slow.
Amelia packed her things, heart still steadying. The echo of his voice lingered, not the words — just the tone.
When she finally stepped out into the corridor, the lights glowed faintly above her, the air smelling of ozone and calm after storm.
Meanwhile, on the top floor, Alexander stood by the window again.
Manchester gleamed below — the storm retreating, the city returning to order.
And yet something in him refused to return to order with it.
He thought of her — the calm voice in the dark, the way she'd stood her ground without realising she had.
He had spent years surrounded by brilliance, beauty, ambition.
But it was quiet competence that had finally made him look up.
He didn't call it attraction.
He called it curiosity.
But deep down, he knew it wasn't quite that anymore.
The next morning, HR found an email sent at 1:12 a.m.
From: A. Harrington
To: M. Hughes
CC: A. Clarke
Subject: Trust Index – Phase Two
Miss Clarke,
Your observations during implementation have been valuable.
I'd like you to attend next week's regional alignment sessions with me and Ms. Hughes.
Prepare your findings on trust metrics.
Regards,
A.H.
Amelia read it twice, pulse quickening.
The alignment sessions — three days in London headquarters.
It wasn't just another meeting.
It was proximity, again.
And though she didn't know it yet, London would change everything.