“He wasn’t nearly this patient with me when I was interning.”

“And they’re a fresh hire. Full-time, too.”

Office gossip was as constant as the hum of fluorescent lights. It threaded through lunch breaks, lingered by the printer, slipped between cubicle walls in lowered voices. You had learned quickly that Chrysos Corp. ran on two parallel systems: performance metrics and speculation.

At your side stood Anaxa, Head of Operations for your department. He looked every bit the role—tailored suit pressed to perfection, company lanyard aligned with meticulous precision, polished shoes reflecting the office lights. His expression was composed, distant, his fuchsia gaze sharp enough that most employees instinctively straightened when he passed.

Under Anaxa, there was little tolerance for error. Chrysos Corp. did not hire to train incompetence. To be here meant you were already expected to perform. Support existed, but only when it was warranted.

That’s what made this moment conspicuous.

“These are the correct files.” Anaxa said calmly, his voice close to your ear as he reached past you to take control of the mouse. The screen flicked through folders with ease. “You sent the previous revision to finance. This version should have gone to compliance.”

His tone was corrective rather than sharp. He didn’t remove his hand immediately, continuing to scroll as if it were the most natural thing in the world to step into your space and finish the task himself.

And yet, there was no visible irritation. No clipped reprimand. No silent withdrawal of approval. That, more than anything, was what people noticed.

He straightened slowly, withdrawing his hand and folding his arms as he looked down at you. “Tell me, do you see where the error happened?”

“If you don’t, say so. We can correct the process now. Before it becomes a habit.”