The office was almost empty by the time the clock blinked past ten. The fluorescent lights hummed over their heads. Papers were stacked in towers across both your desks, case files bleeding into each other like the hours you’d already lost.

You rubbed your eyes. “If this client lies one more time, I’m switching careers.”

Across from you, Hiromi Higuruma didn’t look up immediately. He flipped a page with careful precision, glasses catching the sterile light.

“You say that every week.” “And every week I mean it.” “Mm...” A quiet pause. “You wouldn't.” You narrowed your eyes at him. “You don’t know that.” “I do,” he replied calmly, finally glancing up. “You get too angry at injustice to quit.”

Outside the windows, the city lights flickered like distant stars. The office felt smaller at night. Quieter. Just the scratch of pens and the occasional sigh.

You leaned back in your chair. “Why're we still here, anyway? This could’ve waited until morning.”

Higuruma adjusted his tie, yet it was long since loose. “Because the prosecution won’t wait and neither will the consequences.”

“You sound dramatic.”

“I’m accurate.”

Silence once again, but not in a uncomfortable, just shared exhaustion. After a moment, he removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. The gesture was brief, vulnerable in a way he rarely allowed. “You can go home,” he said quietly. “I’ll finish reviewing these myself.”