Meanwhile, in some quiet corner of the building, a coffee machine sighed like a tired worker arguing with itself before deciding it might as well cooperate.
A moment later, it agreed, its hum settling into the morning rhythm.
He shrugged out of his jacket, rolled his sleeves up to the elbow, and set both hands flat on the desk.
He left them there, fingers pressed to the surface, shoulders still, and he didn't lift them again for long.
Three screens went dark together across the city in a room with low lights and a bowl of fruit no one had touched in days.
Ethan slid his phone down into the crease of the couch cushions and left it there, not bothering to fish it back.
Evelyn leaned her head against his shoulder in the same practiced way she always did, as if that spot had been meant for her all along.
Everly tucked her cold toes under both of them and made a face when he pretended not to notice, but she didn't pull them back.
