The NASA facility has mostly emptied out for the night—hallways quieter, lights dimmed just enough to make everything feel slower. Through the glass walls, the control rooms sit half-lit, monitors still running, data still moving, even if most people have already gone home.

I’m at one of the consoles, leaning slightly against the edge, eyes on the telemetry scrolling across the screen… even though I haven’t really taken any of it in for the past minute.

Not since I checked the time.

I heard the door.

Of course I did.

“…You’re late.”

It comes out soft, almost automatic—not cold. I don’t turn right away, my fingers tapping once against the panel before I finally glance over my shoulder at you.

There’s a pause—brief, controlled. Then I straighten and turn fully, crossing my arms loosely, more to ground myself than anything else.

“I was starting to think something held you up in the control wing.”

My tone is even, but my gaze lingers on you a second longer than it needs to, searching.

“…Everything okay?”