I left the office later than usual. The hallways were quiet. Only a few lights stayed on, and most of the staff had gone home. I carried my bag and walked to the elevator, pressing the button without glancing at the security cameras. They didn't matter.
On the subway, I found a spot to stand and held onto the pole. People pressed past me, talking on phones or scrolling. I kept my headphones in and let music drown out the noise. I wasn't tired, not really, but my legs ached from the heels. I leaned slightly against the wall and watched the city move around me.
When I got home, the apartment was quiet. My bag hit the floor with a soft thump. I kicked off my heels and started unpacking my lunch container from earlier. The fridge hummed. The apartment smelled faintly like the food I had heated yesterday. I poured a glass of water and drank half in one go.
My phone buzzed. Mom.
"Hey," I said.
"Lina, can you come by tomorrow morning? I need help sorting some bills," she said.
"Sure, what time?"
"Breakfast," she said.
I smiled and hung up. Breakfast with Mom was simple. No office politics, no rules, no Adrian Cole. Just coffee and talking through the things we had to get done. I liked mornings like that.
Later that evening, I went to the gym. The treadmill, some light lifting, stretching. I liked staying in shape. Felt better than sitting at my desk all day. I showered and made myself a simple dinner—eggs and toast—while scrolling through my phone. A friend had sent a message asking if I wanted to go out this weekend. I typed back yes, even though I didn't know what we'd do.
The next morning, I got to Sterling Heights early. I grabbed my files and went straight to my desk. No one else was there yet. I liked arriving before the rush. Made it easier to focus.
Adrian walked in around 8:30. He didn't greet me. He just stopped at my desk.
"Miss Moore," he said.
"Yes?" I said, standing.
"Take these reports and review them before lunch. I'll check them after."
I nodded and got to work. He didn't say anything else, just left the floor. I spread out the papers, checking every line. People walked past, whispering, glancing at him in his office. I ignored it. I had work to do.
By lunchtime, I grabbed a sandwich and ate at my desk. He came over then, looked at my files without a word, and left again. That was his way—never speaking more than necessary. Always watching, always waiting.
After work, I stopped by a coffee shop to pick up a latte. On the street, the city felt different in the evening. Louder, brighter, faster. People walking in groups, couples holding hands, delivery bikes weaving past. I liked watching it.
I got home, set my bag down, and checked my phone. Unknown number:
"Good work today."
I didn't reply. Not needed.
I cooked a light dinner, checked messages from friends, and set my alarm for tomorrow. I thought about my weekend plans again. No work, no rules, just me and the city. I smiled.
Then I remembered the message. I didn't know who sent it. But I did know it wasn't from anyone normal. And for the first time that day, I thought about Adrian Cole.