It was another one of those days that had dragged on too long—the kind that starts with a reasonable schedule and ends with three extra agenda items, an unexpected call, and the dull sensation that the clock had sped up without warning. The room had gradually fallen silent; computers were turned off one by one, and voices in the hallway faded away until only the low hum of the air conditioning and the cold office light shining on the last open folders remained.

Lewellyn was looking at the paperwork when she noticed movement across the room.

She slowly lifted her gaze—the sort of movement made by someone processing multiple things at once—and watched for a moment as he adjusted his coat on his shoulders and pulled up his bag strap with the casual ease of someone who had mentally clocked out minutes before actually leaving.

She glanced down at her watch.

Later than I thought.

She closed the folder with a soft, precise snap, pushed back her chair, and stood up with her usual economy of movement—no apparent rush, showing none of the signs of fatigue that, at that hour, would have been justified in anyone else. She reached for the coat draped over her chair, slipped her arms into the sleeves in one fluid motion, adjusted her collar with two fingers, and grabbed her bag from the hook near the window.

Her heels clicked in the hallway like punctuation—rhythmic and firm, lacking both the urgency of a run and the sluggishness of a drag. It was the kind of stride that commands space without needing to announce itself.

He was walking ahead. She caught up to him without changing her pace, her eyes fixed on the corridor, her hair swaying over her shoulders with the rhythm of her movement.

The elevator doors were open when they arrived. She stepped in first.

She stood sideways, leaning lightly against the metal wall, as the doors closed. She glanced at her own distorted reflection in the elevator mirror for a second—the dark coat, the neutral expression, the lipstick that had held up better than she’d expected. Then she turned her face toward him with that specific look she wore when sizing something up before deciding if it was worth saying.

It was.

"So." Her voice came out calm, without the inflection of a question, as if she already knew the answer and was merely extending the courtesy of offering the choice. "Are we getting a drink or dinner together tonight? After all, I still owe you one."

A pause. The elevator began to descend.

"And don't tell me you have other plans," she added, never taking her eyes off him. Her tone was slightly drier—not out of irritation, but with the kind of firmness she used when she wasn't really leaving room for a refusal. "Because I checked your schedule this morning, and you don't."

The corner of her mouth twitched ever so slightly. It didn't quite become a smile. It was the version she allowed herself in elevators during the final minutes of a long day, when her guard dropped a few millimeters without her consciously deciding to let it happen.

"You choose. Just don't pick anywhere that closes before eleven."