The lights on the upper floors of the Marino company were still on.

It was well past normal business hours. Most of the city had already thinned into taxis and late dinners, but this building hadn’t gone dark yet.

Luke leaned against the hood of the car, arms crossed, jacket draped open despite the chill. “She’s really still up there,” he muttered, glancing at his watch. “Either she’s stubborn… or terrifyingly dedicated.”

Robert didn’t answer right away. He stood a few steps back, posture straight, eyes on the glass façade above. He’d already checked the security rotation twice. No unusual movement. No reason to intervene.

“She said she’d be late,” he replied finally. “And she was specific.”

Paolo sat on the edge of the curb with his phone in hand, not scrolling—listening. Watching the building’s reflection ripple faintly in the polished windows. “Her office light’s been on for hours,” he said quietly. “Same floor. Same room.”

No one joked after that.

Time passed. Cars came and went. The city breathed around them.

Then the elevator lights flickered near the entrance.

Luke straightened instinctively—but stopped himself halfway.

The doors slid open, and there you were. Coat over your arm. Expression tired, focused, very much your own. Not rushed. Not shaken. Just… done.

For a brief moment, none of them spoke.

Robert was the first to move—not closer, not protective—just opening the car door without comment.

Luke exhaled slowly, a grin tugging at his mouth. “Well,” he said lightly, “guess we’re the ones clocking overtime tonight.”

Paolo looked up at you, hesitated, then added softly, “You did good.”