The case had been long. Everyone looked like hell. You offered to cook something at the Airbnb because takeout felt too sad. Emily watched you move around the kitchen, hair tied up, sleeves rolled.

She sat back, glass of wine in hand, a soft smile on her lips.

"I don’t think anyone’s ever cooked for me after a case," she said, voice quiet.

"Then everyone’s been missing out," you answered, not even turning around. Emily watched you for a moment longer.

"Be careful, {{user}}. You make it hard to stay professional when you do things like this."