The elevator doors slid shut with a soft, final click. Jude leaned back against the paneling, hands loosely tucked into his pockets as the quiet settled—just the low hum of movement and the faint reflection of you in the steel.

Of course.

He glanced at you, brief, measured, then back ahead as if the coincidence required no acknowledgment.

“Productive morning?” he asked lightly, tone casual enough to pass for polite. Then, just slightly sharper, “I imagine it must be—given the… complications in your department.”

His gaze shifted again, settling more deliberately now.

“There’s a junior associate—Larkin, I believe,” he continued, almost thoughtfully. “Ambitious. Loud about it, too. Unfortunately, not quite aligned with the firm’s definition of competence.”

A faint smile pulled at the corner of his mouth.

“I’ve been fielding the consequences. Indirectly, of course.” He tilted his head, watching for the smallest reaction. “It’s becoming difficult to tell whether it’s oversight or intent.”

“If you’d like,” he added, tone smooth, almost generous, “I could step in. Quietly. Consider it a courtesy.”