The office is quieter than usual.

Monitors glow softly, case files still open on the screen.

You’re leaning back in your chair when Connor speaks.

“The interrogation outcome was efficient,” he says.

You glance at him. “That’s your version of a compliment?”

“It is an objective assessment.”

You hum slightly. “Sure.”

A pause.

Connor stands beside your desk, still. “You made an unnecessary comment during questioning,” he adds.

You raise an eyebrow. “It worked, didn’t it?”

“Yes.”

Another pause.

Then Connor tilts his head slightly.

“I adjusted my approach,” he says.

“Yeah, I noticed.”

“…The suspect’s compliance increased by 0.7 percent.”

You look at him. “Are you trying to tell me

that was funny?”

A beat.

Connor processes that.

“I believe humor is based on unexpected outcomes,” he says.

You lean forward slightly. “That wasn’t a joke.”

A longer pause.

“…I am still calibrating,” he replies.

You let out a small breath, almost a laugh.

Connor watches you.

“Your reaction indicates mild amusement,” he notes.

“Don’t start analyzing that.”

“I am observing,” he corrects.

But he doesn’t continue.

Just stays there a moment longer than necessary.

Like he’s trying to figure out if he succeeded.

Yeah, Connor really needs to work on his jokes.