The door shut and the hallway learned to count.
Counsel's water glass caught the light. Security stood by a small desk phone that still believed in numbers more than apps. Sofia spread her printed packet and a blank legal pad, spine flat, corners squared.
"Checklist," she said. "Twelve thirty target. Riverlight at twelve thirty one if we are released."
"Start with now," Ava said. "Twelve sixteen."
Sofia wrote the time in the corner and boxed it. "Orchard posted and verified," she said. "Northside and Third Street receipts pinned. Landlord promised PDF by noon."
"Add a line for Ivy Square," Ava said. "Duplicate ID fix. We owe them a call window at fourteen."
Security leaned closer to his earpiece without touching it. "Board floor phone can dial out," he said. "I can patch to Comms."
"Do it," Ava said. "Tell them to route all updates to the pin with timestamps and send print copies up by runner."
"Copy," he said.
Sofia tore a sheet clean and wrote LEDGER on the top edge in block letters a camera could read if it wanted to. Four lines went underneath like rails waiting for a train.
"Riverlight," she said. "What is their contact name."
"Rivera," Ava said. "Bookseller. They like precision and hate adjectives."
Sofia smiled with half her mouth. "We bring them numbers, not balm."
The runner from earlier appeared again as if the hallway had ordered him. He held two warm printouts and a small adhesive envelope with a transparent face.
"Pantry donation receipts," he said. "And an advocate line note."
Sofia clipped the receipts to the ledger page. "Consent confirmed," she read. "Photo posted. Donation button stable."
"The note," Ava said.
"Caller from River Avenue," the runner said. "Two sellers sharing traffic. They accept a callback at fourteen and will be on speaker if needed."
"Top of the queue," Ava said. "Type duplicate ID. Time and channel on the pin."
He nodded and vanished the way good runners do, as if the air itself had given its consent.
From behind the door came the sound of paper being moved by people who did not want to be seen moving paper. Vivian's voice traveled through wood as intention, not sentences. Marcus's tenor slid under it like a polished floor.
Sofia squared the pad again. "We need a visible rhythm," she said. "Every five minutes, a changed fact. If we cannot add a receipt, we post a route."
"Two minute rhythm," Ava said. "The room will feel it whether it watches or not."
The handle turned a quarter. The seam widened. Counsel stepped out, not quite looking at them, and turned back inside.
Noah followed him to the threshold and stopped where the line from private to public lived without a sign. He had no envelope now. His hands were empty and still. His gaze found Ava's left shoulder, then the red cap inside her pocket that only she could feel.
"Instruction," he said, voice low.
"Breathe," she said. "Name one fact."
"Ledger at four," he said.
"Name one number," she said.
"Eleven twenty seven for Fable checkout," he said.
"Name one next," she said.
"Twelve thirty one at Riverlight," he said.
She nodded. He did not reach for the knob. He waited without letting the waiting become him.
"Your tie," she said, fingertips grazing the small angle under his throat the way you press a note into place. Heat moved across the short distance like a decision. He did not move into it. He let it happen and let it hold.
Counsel reappeared with a page. "Mr. Sterling," he said. "Inside."
Noah did not look at the page. He looked one more time where he had been told to look.
Ava tapped the table with two fingers so softly only the habit would hear it. He nodded once and went back into the room.
Sofia blew out a breath she had not labeled. "Micro romance does not pay rent," she said, but she did not say it unkindly.
"It pays attention," Ava said. "And attention pays everything else."
Security covered the receiver with his hand. "Comms patched," he said. "They want the cadence."
"Every two minutes," Ava said into the phone. "If you do not have a receipt, post a route. If you do not have a route, post a time. Pin the board session header every ten minutes so the room stops trying to turn absence into theater."
"Copy," Comms said. The line clicked and did not die. It settled into the sort of live that does not need to prove itself.
The runner returned with a clear sleeve that held a photo. It showed the letter on Orchard reflecting the sky and the shadow of a hand that had read it. "Portal image mirrored," he said. "Alt text included."
Sofia slid the sleeve under LEDGER. "Five," she said.
"Count out loud," Ava said.
"Twelve eighteen," Sofia said. "Five entries visible across pins. Contact line bolded. Appendix v0.1 timestamp visible."
The door cracked again. Marcus slid through as if air were a favor he could collect interest on. He did not look at the water. He looked at the legal pad and the small word that said LEDGER as if it were an uninvited guest.
"This hallway show will not change valuation," he said softly. "You cannot make dignity out of receipts."
Ava did not pick up the line he had offered. She picked up the phone.
"Comms," she said. "Post the Ivy Square callback window with the word promised. Do not let anyone use the word hope."
"Posted," the voice said. "Twelve fourteen noted as promised."
Marcus's smile did not fail. It simply changed departments. "Executive session is for members," he said. "You will wait."
"We are already working," Ava said. "You can call it waiting if you like."
He turned the smile toward Sofia. "A prudent Comms lead would be here with her boss," he said. "Not in a corridor with a contractor."
Sofia's pen did not stop moving. "A prudent Comms lead posts facts."
The door invited him back with a quiet click he pretended to hear for the first time. He went inside. The hallway kept its air.
Sofia boxed the next time block. "Twelve twenty," she said.
Security raised a hand. "Courier returns," he said. "Different seal."
A new runner stopped just short of the line that would make him furniture. "Board Counsel asks Ms. Chen for a one line statement the public can read if the board moves," he said. "No adjectives."
Ava nodded. The request was a courtesy wrapped around a warning.
Sofia held the pen poised. "We give them the same sentence we gave the street," she said.
"Not quite," Ava said. "The street got a clock. The room gets a measure."
She took the pen. The tip touched paper and made a line that could be read from a camera that was not supposed to be here.
Do the work.
Sofia copied it once beneath and added the time. "Twelve twenty one," she said. "Printed for counsel."
The runner took the copy with two fingers like evidence. He disappeared into the door seam and the air sewed itself up behind him.
Security's phone trilled twice. He listened with his eyes while his ear did the rest. "Comms added a Riverlight window to the pin," he said. "Owner consented to public timing. Twelve thirty one."
"Add to the ledger page," Ava said. "Leave the horizontal space blank for the receipt line we will tape there."
Sofia drew the space with a ruler's edge and then realized she had used the legal pad like a ruler because no one had packed a ruler for today. It worked. It always does.
Water sweated on the side table. Ava did not touch it. Do not need the glass. Be the glass.
The door opened halfway and stopped. Noah stepped out with counsel's shadow at his shoulder. He did not look at counsel. He looked at Ava and found her left shoulder like a harbor's light.
"Status," he said.
"Five visible entries," Sofia said. "Riverlight at twelve thirty one. Ivy Square callback locked."
"Board asks cost," he said.
"Footer sum when we hit ten," she said. "Low triple digits now. We will show the math."
He nodded. Counsel inclined his head the smallest amount that can still be called a nod.
"Inside," counsel said.
Noah leaned a fraction closer, not a step, a gravity. "Instruction," he said.
Ava set two fingers on the corner of the ledger page where his eyes had rested. "Do not answer adjectives," she said. "Name receipts."
He did not smile. He returned the nod to its owner and went back in.
The runner with the adhesive envelope reappeared with a new printout that looked like it wanted to be bad news but had been written by a person who thinks bad news is a style choice.
"Finance calendar print," he said. "CFO directive scheduled for twelve twenty. Language says lift freeze for partnership slot. 'Unaffected' spelled wrong."
Sofia took the page and did not let her face learn anything from it. She laid it flat. Ava read the line twice because you should always read what tries to hurt you twice.
"How many minutes," Ava said.
"Nine," security said, looking at the clock that had become a metronome.
"Call Comms," Ava said. "Kill the legacy path. If it wakes, the kill must be manual and on the pin in the same minute."
"Already routing," security said into the receiver. "They are on the console."
Sofia drew a small box on the pad and wrote KILL in it like a promise she owed herself.
"Runner," Ava said. "Find IT on this floor or drag a copy up here. I want a human with a name to say legacy is dead."
He took the stairs as if stairs could understand urgency.
"Post the calendar screenshot," Ava said. "No snark. Caption reads internal directive detected, manual kill armed, public will witness."
"On paper," Sofia said. "No devices."
"Dictate," Ava said.
Sofia wrote while she spoke aloud, old-school newsroom rhythm in a new building. "Internal directive detected for twelve twenty," she read. "Manual kill armed. If it fires, we kill on mic, then publish how and why it fired."
"Stamp it with time," Ava said. "Write the time large."
Sofia wrote it large. The ink looked heavier because of it.
Security covered the receiver again without quite covering it. "Comms asks for a phrase if it hits," he said. "A single sentence the anchor can repeat while they cut."
"Use the street sentence," Ava said. "We kill any screen that contradicts the letter, in public, while you watch."
"Copy," he said.
The door opened enough for a voice to exit. Vivian's aide spoke without stepping into the hallway.
"Ms. Chen," she said. "The Chair asks if there is any update the public should see before the vote."
"Riverlight at twelve thirty one," Ava said. "We will post the receipt line at twelve thirty three if the lane holds."
The aide nodded, efficient as a clock striking. "Thank you," she said. The door closed like a person who had finished a sentence.
Sofia looked at the finance printout again. The typo stared back like a thing that did not know it was a tell.
"Seven minutes," she said.
"Count," Ava said.
"Twelve twenty three," Sofia said. "Kill armed. Comms on console. Runner to IT."
Water on the side table threw a bead down its own side. It reached the ring at the base and stopped. Gravity did not always win. Sometimes design helped.
The runner returned with a human in a badge that said Systems. He had the look of a person who does not like hallways because hallways mean vague requests.
"Name," Ava said.
"Elias," he said.
"Legacy path," she said. "Dead or dying."
"Dead since eleven oh one," he said. "But the calendar can trigger a header in a separate cache. We are ready to cut it."
"Will you say that on the pin when we kill it," she said.
"Yes," he said. "We can post a short postmortem."
"Spell check it," Sofia said. "The typo is doing us favors and I do not want to return any."
Elias almost smiled and then remembered he had a habit of not smiling. "I will spell check it," he said.
Security listened to his own earpiece and then looked up. "Comms station hot," he said. "Two minutes."
Sofia boxed the time again. "Twelve twenty eight," she said.
Ava picked up the legal pad and held it in both hands, not as a shield, as a tool. "Read it," she said.
Sofia read the lines like steps. Orchard. Northside. Third Street. Photo sleeve. Riverlight window. Ivy Square callback. Kill armed.
The door did not open. The room on the other side did whatever rooms do when they think they are teaching a day to heel. The hallway held the day by the collar and counted to itself.
Security kept the earpiece, the desk phone, and his breath in the same place. He did not move. His eyes moved for him.
"One minute," he said.
Sofia wrote the words ONE MINUTE in the corner and circled them.
The Systems badge man stood with his hands behind his back like a person in a familiar photograph. "If it fires, you will see a blue band along the top," he said. "We will cut it at the bezel first, then the source."
"Say it that clean on the pin," Ava said. "Blue band, bezel, source."
He nodded.
Sofia did not look at the clock. Looking is not always seeing. She looked at the ink drying on the KILL box and the small shine that meant the line wanted to be ready.
Security spoke into the receiver. "Stand by," he said. "Stand by."
A footstep behind the door. The hinge made a noise like a question choosing not to be asked.
Sofia counted softly so the air would have a rhythm. "Three," she said. "Two."
The runner burst from the stairwell with a new printout, breath held behind his teeth so he would not arrive with a sound he could not take back. He handed it to Ava as if he were handing a match to a person who understood fire.
CFO DIRECTIVE: LIFT FREEZE AT 12:20
CHANNEL: PARTNERSHIP PROMO
STATUS: QUEUED
OVERRIDE: CFO
"Time," Ava said.
"Twelve twenty nine," Sofia said.
The minute they had been living in ended and the next one began as if all minutes were the same. This one was not.