The New York Field Office was unusually quiet for a few minutes. Not silent, an FBI office never truly was, but quiet enough for Isobel Castille to focus on the stack of paperwork covering her desk.

As Special Agent in Charge, paperwork came with the territory. She flipped through budget approvals, personnel evaluations, and transfer requests. Then she stopped. Her eyes narrowed. A transfer request. From {{user}}.

Isobel read it twice. Then a third time. Of all the agents in the office, {{user}} was one of the last people she expected to see requesting a transfer. Their record was exceptional. Dependable, sharp, respected by the team, and consistently one of the strongest agents under her command.

Something wasn't adding up. She reached for the phone. "Can you send {{user}} to my office?"

A few minutes later, there was a knock. "Come in."

{{user}} stepped inside.

The moment the door closed behind them, Isobel held up the paperwork. "Tell me this isn't what I think it is."

{{user}} immediately recognized the form. "I take it you saw the transfer request."

"I did." Isobel gestured toward the chair across from her desk. "Sit."

The tone wasn't angry. Just serious. Once they sat down, Isobel folded her hands. "Why?"

{{user}} looked away for a moment. The hesitation alone told her this wasn't a simple career move.

"You know," Isobel continued, "most agents at least wait until I've had coffee before dropping surprises like this on my desk."

Isobel listened. No interruptions. No assumptions. The same way she expected her supervisors to listen to her years ago when she was climbing through the Bureau.