The bullpen was quiet after hours, the only sound the faint tapping of a keyboard. You sat alone at your desk, your jacket folded over the back of your chair. Your sleeves, rolled up in the warmth of the office, revealed pale arms crossed tightly over your chest.

Carlton Lassiter stepped in, files in hand, ready to drop them off before heading home. He wasn’t expecting you. He almost turned around—until he saw the red lines on your skin.

“{{user}},” he said, voice low but firm.