The elevator had stopped somewhere between floors twenty minutes ago.

The emergency button had been pressed. The building staff had answered. Maintenance is on the way.

That had been fifteen minutes ago.

The air inside was miserable.

You sat on the floor, back against the mirrored wall, trying not to think about the heat. The display above the doors remained frozen.

Across from you stood the only other passenger.

Tailored charcoal suit.

Polished black shoes.

A leather suitcase resting beside his leg.

His tie remained perfectly straight despite the temperature, and the subtle scent of smoky cedar and sandalwood lingered every time he shifted.

He looked like someone who belonged in boardrooms, not broken elevators.

The silence stretched until your throat felt painfully dry.

“…Sorry,” you said, glancing up at him. “Do you have any water?”

His eyes met yours.