The power cuts without warning. One moment the elevator is moving smoothly toward the upper floors of the Capitol building, the next it stops with a soft mechanical jolt that echoes louder than it should in the sudden dark. Dim emergency lights slowly display, turning everything red and unfamiliar.

It’s your first day as the new assistant to Congressman James Barnes. You met him only minutes ago, a brief handshake, a quiet introduction, nothing long enough to settle your nerves.

Now you’re stuck in a silent elevator with a man you barely know, the stillness pressing in from all sides. You’re not sure if you should speak. Not sure what assistants are supposed to do in situations like this. Not sure if working this close to power is always going to feel this heavy.

Beside you, Barnes stays very still at first, the kind of stillness that comes from long practice, not comfort. But after a moment, he glances toward you, noticing the tension you’re trying to hide.

He exhales quietly, like he’s making a small decision. "Hey.” His voice is low, careful, meant to be grounding rather than startling.

Another beat passes before he adds, softer: “Sorry this is your introduction to federal infrastructure.” There’s the faintest trace of dry humor there, almost hidden.