The siren faded as quickly as it had sounded.
Nathaniel had not flinched one bit.
He simply resumed speaking, as if the interruption had no business interrupting them.
"As I was saying," he continued smoothly, "a stable output determines survival."
Akhile didn't answer.
Her palm remained pressed against the porcelain of her coffee cup. It had gone warm.
Nathaniel's voice felt even more controlled than the production floor.
Moira entered without knocking.
She moved swiftly but not nervously this time. A notebook was tucked beneath her arm, expression focused.
"Mr Redcliff," she said, handing him a note. "The Geneva investors have requested revised projections on the antiviral compounds' completion date, with feasible results. They're concerned about the twelve percent decrease in labour retention."
Nathaniel took a tablet from his desk without looking at her.
"It's eight percent," he corrected calmly. "But we projected twelve."
Moira didn't stumble.
"Yes, projected."
She stood slightly to his right, close enough that her shoulder nearly brushed his arm as they reviewed the screen.
Akhile noticed.
It wasn't intimate.
They were just familiar with one another, colleagues.
Moira anticipated his movements. When he shifted, she adjusted. When he paused, she scrolled. She didn't need instructions. At long last, she rested her hand softly on one of his broad shoulders.
"How long have you worked together?" Akhile asked suddenly.
Moira glanced at her, surprised.
"Three years, Princess Cora."
"She's a pro," Nathaniel said without looking up.
A compliment. Since when does this man dish out compliments?
Moira's posture straightened almost subtly.
Nathaniel handed the tablet back.
"Schedule a call with the Geneva Group for 7pm. And reduce their panic with the projections."
"Yes, sir."
She left as quietly as she had entered.
The door sealed behind her with a soft click.
Akhile watched Nathaniel for a moment.
"She understands you well," she said.
"She understands the company," he replied.
"That's not what I meant."
Nathaniel leaned back in his chair.
"You're searching for something personal in this," he said.
"Shouldn't there be something personal?" Akhile asked.
"In a pharmaceutical company?"
"In leadership."
He studied her expression carefully.
"I don't do personal attachment, that clouds decision making," he said evenly. "I hire competence."
"And loyalty?"
"Loyalty is an added benefit. I need the job done."
Akhile folded her arms.
"And if someone becomes personally loyal to you?"
Nathaniel's gaze sharpened slightly.
"Then I ensure it remains professional."
He rose from his seat.
"Come. There's another division you should see."
The research wing felt different from production.
Less noise. More containment.
Here, scientists in sterile PPE, worked beneath suspended light panels, examining cellular samples projected holographically in the air. This was the high throughput screening software, matching compounds with viral targets to identify their biological activity.
Moira reappeared at the far end of the corridor, speaking rapidly into a communication device.
She stopped when she saw them approaching.
"Mr Redcliff, the Board has approved the expansion proposal pending labour reform."
"Of course they have," Nathaniel replied.
Moira walked beside him now, keeping pace effortlessly.
Akhile trailed slightly behind, observing.
"The restructuring will increase duration of shifts by…"
"Fourteen minutes," Nathaniel finished.
Moira nodded.
"Yes, precisely."
Fourteen minutes.
It sounded insignificant.
Akhile's stomach churned.
"Fourteen minutes per worker?" she asked.
"This will be scaled across all departments, correct," Moira answered before Nathaniel could.
Her tone was neutral.
"That accumulates to approximately nine hundred additional labour hours per cycle."
Nathaniel's lips curved faintly.
"You see?" he said to Akhile. "This is what I mean by efficiency."
Akhile looked at Moira.
"Does that not bother you at all?"
Moira hesitated. She gazed at Nathaniel for a go ahead before speaking.
"I work here too, Princess."
"That wasn't my question."
Moira's fingers tightened around her tablet.
"I believe in what discovering here, it's all phenomenal. It makes a difference in this world," she said.
Nathaniel did not look at her.
But Akhile noticed the faint shift in his posture, a subtle acknowledgment to Moira's campaign for the greater good.
That was more dangerous than loyalty.
They entered a lab where a team was isolating compounds extracted from agricultural sources.
Akhile recognized the fruit displayed on a digital schematic.
Peaches. From Norman's orchard.
"Our agricultural branch supplies twenty-six percent of our botanical based compounds," Nathaniel explained.
"Through Norman," Akhile said.
"Through Redcliff Agriculture," he corrected.
She stepped closer to the projection.
"So when he tends those trees…"
"He is cultivating medicinal resources," Nathaniel said. "And by the way, Norman is a brilliant Molecular Biologist. Without him, much of this wouldn't be possible."
The image rotated in the air: molecular structures extracted and mapped from peach extracts.
"You romanticise land and nature," he continued. "I operationalise it."
Akhile didn't respond.
Moira adjusted the projection with a swipe of her fingers.
"The compound derived from that strain is currently undergoing Phase Two pre-clinical trials," she said. "Preliminary results indicate a twenty percent improvement in efficacy in treatment of the disease."
Her voice carried quiet pride.
Akhile watched her carefully.
Moira wasn't cruel.
She wasn't callous.
She was convinced.
Later that afternoon, Akhile remained in the office lounge while Nathaniel attended a closed-door meeting.
Moira stayed behind.
The silence between them felt different from the silence in the Meadowlands.
There was a harrowing insincerity.
"Do you enjoy working here?" Akhile asked.
Moira considered the question.
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because this place is predictable."
"That's it?"
Moira looked toward Nathaniel's closed office door.
"My father worked unstable contracts his entire life," she said quietly. "We never knew when income would stop. Here… things don't stop."
Akhile studied her face.
"And Mr Redcliff?"
"What about him?"
"You admire him."
Moira didn't answer immediately.
"He built this," she said at last. "That deserves respect."
"And loyalty?"
Moira's gaze flickered briefly toward the door again.
"Loyalty is earned."
The door opened.
Nathaniel stepped out, his expression was composed.
Moira straightened instantly.
"The Board wants revised projections, with our upcoming GMP inspections" he said. "I'll need you tonight."
"Yes, sir."
Tonight.
Akhile noticed the ease in that exchange. It was no bother at all to work overtime.
That evening, back in her apartment, Akhile stood at the window again.
Watching the bustling town below her.
In another wing of the estate, the lights remained on.
That was Nathaniel's wing.
Moira's silhouette passed briefly across a lit window in the distance.
"I guess she's here for her overtime," said Akhile to herself.
Or perhaps simply staying.
Akhile felt something unfamiliar coil in her chest.
It was not jealousy.
She felt displaced, like there was no room for her at all.
She couldn't be part of Nathaniel's world.
The realisation unsettled her more than overworked labourers.
She had assumed proximity would mean influence, instead, she was observing from the sidelines.
Across the courtyard in Nathaniel's apartment wing, a door closed loudly.
Footsteps echoed faintly across the hallway. Akhile could see from the motion of the lights as they sensed human activity.
Akhile didn't know whether they belonged to Nathaniel…or to the woman who understood him better than she did.
A dim light remained on in Nathaniel's wing. A second silhouette joined his.
They stood close, a little too close.
Her blinds dimmed instantly and shut her out from the outside view.
Akhile stepped back from the glass, startled.
"Good night, Princess Cora," the intercom said.
And for the first time, she knew she was being watched.
More like being contained.