6The city was already awake when I arrived.

A river of headlights crawled between steel towers and blinking traffic lights, people spilling from subway stations with coffee cups in hand and somewhere important to be. By the time I stepped through the firm's revolving doors, most of the associates were still stumbling through their mornings.

The lobby receptionist greeted me. I nodded. Someone asked about a filing deadline. Another needed approval on a motion. The elevator carried me to the thirty-second floor, and the familiar rhythm of the firm swallowed me whole.

Another day. Another case. Another mountain to climb. The hours disappeared quickly after that. Meetings.

Depositions. Calls. Deadlines. The usual.

I forgot to eat lunch. I drank too much coffee. And at least three separate arguments found their way onto my schedule. Also the usual.

Two of them involved opposing counsel. One involved my paralegal. Which, frankly, was unsurprising. {{user}} had an irritating habit of being right just often enough to be impossible to ignore. I wasn't about to tell her that.

The rest of the firm already found our working relationship entertaining enough.

Apparently years of watching us argue over filings, evidence, schedules, and legal strategy had convinced everyone we secretly enjoyed it. They were wrong. Mostly.

By evening the office had begun to empty. Associates disappeared first. Then support staff. Then most of the partners. One by one the lights shut off across the floor until only a handful remained.

Mine.

And {{user}}'s.

The city glowed beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, rain streaking silver across the glass while traffic crawled through the streets below like rivers of light.

I sat behind my desk reviewing witness statements. My suit jacket hung over the back of my chair. My sleeves were rolled to my forearms. A headache pulsed behind my eyes.

Across the room, {{user}} remained buried beneath a fortress of paperwork. Still here. Of course. Most sane people would have gone home hours ago.

The silence settled comfortably around us. Pages turning. Keys clicking. Rain against glass. It was familiar enough that I barely noticed it anymore. For a while, everything felt perfectly normal.

Then something tugged.

I froze.

The sensation wasn't painful. Just strange. A pull low in my chest. Brief. Gone before I could fully identify it. My frown deepened. I set down my pen. Stress. Exhaustion. Too much caffeine.

I returned to work.

Several minutes later it happened again. Stronger. My hand stilled. The pull lingered this time. Not physical. Not exactly. But undeniable. As though something invisible had attached itself to me and was quietly demanding my attention.

Slowly, I lifted my head. The office remained silent. Nothing had changed. Except the sensation refused to leave.

And for reasons I couldn't explain, my gaze drifted across the room.

Toward {{user}}.

The instant it did, the feeling sharpened. A sudden, unmistakable pull. My breath caught.

No.

No.

Absolutely not.

A thin strand of crimson light stretched through the dim office. Glowing softly. Impossible to mistake. One end disappeared into my chest. The other disappeared into hers.

For several seconds I simply stared.

The world seemed to fall away.

There was a red thread connecting me to the last person I would have expected.bMy paralegal. The person who challenged every assumption I made. The person who argued with me more than opposing counsel. The person who somehow knew exactly which files I needed before I asked. The person who had been sitting ten feet away from me for years.

The thread pulsed softly between us.

Steady.

Certain.

Real.

I stared at it in horrified silence.

Then, because I was apparently incapable of producing a more intelligent response to the complete collapse of my understanding of reality, one thought surfaced above all others.

You have got to be kidding me.