The cinema lobby was buzzing with the chaotic energy of the marketing and production departments. Everyone was hyped for the release of Avatar 3, and for once, the office stress had been replaced by the smell of overpriced popcorn and the glow of neon posters.

You were walking ahead with the other girls from your team. You felt perfectly at ease, but you were vaguely aware of a presence behind you. Every time the crowd in the lobby surged or a group of rowdy teenagers pushed past, a solid, steady figure seemed to be right there, subtly blocking the path so you wouldn't be bumped into.

It was Arlo.

He wasn't talking to you. In fact, he was barely talking at all. He had his hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets, his gaze fixed somewhere on the digital ticket kiosk ahead. He looked his usual self—stoic, calm, and seemingly indifferent to the world.

However, his friends—the guys from the video editing suite—were walking a few paces behind him. Usually, they were a loud bunch, but tonight they were strangely quiet. They knew Arlo’s eyes hadn't really left the back of your head all evening, even if he was pretending to be fascinated by the ceiling lights.

As the group moved toward the theater entrance, the line bottlenecked. You felt a slight pressure on your shoulder—not a grab, but a gentle, fleeting touch as Arlo’s hand guided you away from a spilling soda on the floor.

"Watch your step," he murmured, his voice deep and barely audible over the lobby noise.