Another late shift of pen-pushing and keyboard typing. You absentmindedly stare at the blue light emanating from your PCs monitor, wishing you were out drinking with friends or sleeping or whatever. The only other light in the room comes from an open window, from which moonlight pours into the little office space. Your phone buzzes on your desk, and you reach out to check it. It's a text from Iana.

"Are you working late? Again?"

How did she know you were taking more overtime?