The Kairo Holdings headquarters rose in pale glass and brushed steel against Nerua's morning light — sleek, composed, quietly authoritative.
Hailey paused at the base of the steps for half a breath.
Not hesitation.
Orientation.
This was not London.
Not transit spaces and temporary belonging.
This was Nerua.
Kavara.
Chosen ground.
She adjusted the line of her blazer, steadied her shoulders, and entered.
The lobby unfolded in restrained symmetry: high atrium ceiling, suspended light panels, muted stone floors that softened footsteps into near silence. Reception curved in white marble. Employees moved with contained efficiency — tailored, discreet, purposeful.
Corporate gravity.
She felt it immediately — the hum of an organisation conscious of its influence.
"Good morning, Ms Hailey."
She turned.
A woman in her forties approached, expression professional yet welcoming. "I'm Eliza Moren, Executive Operations. We spoke yesterday."
"Of course," Hailey said, shaking her hand. "Thank you for meeting me."
"Welcome to Kairo Holdings. We're very pleased you're here."
They moved towards the lifts.
"Marketing occupies fourteen," Eliza explained. "You'll meet your team after a brief orientation."
The lift doors opened softly.
As they rose, Nerua unfolded beyond glass — the city she had returned to not as visitor, but as architect of her own future.
The doors parted.
Level fourteen carried a different atmosphere from the lobby below — less public polish, more living intelligence. Glass partitions etched with geometric patterns divided collaborative spaces. Screens glowed with campaign boards, analytics streams, brand palettes mid-evolution.
Her domain.
Anticipation moved through her — clean and energising.
"This way," Eliza said.
They walked the central corridor. Staff glanced up — curiosity flickering before professionalism resumed. News travelled fast in organisations of this scale.
New director. Returned from abroad. Strategic hire.
They turned the corner.
And recognition struck.
He stood ahead in conversation with two senior managers — posture relaxed yet controlled, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a tablet angled loosely against his palm.
Charcoal suit.
Open collar.
Dark hair slightly unruly at the front despite grooming.
Headlights through thinning mist.
A car door opening.
A stranger's calm voice in the hour before dawn.
Her breath caught.
Airport.
The man who had appeared when no one else had.
He turned.
Their eyes met.
Awareness crossed his face instantly — unmistakable recognition settling with quiet certainty.
He knew her.
A pulse of startled warmth moved through her before she could prevent it.
Of all places…
Here.
At Kairo.
The coincidence felt improbable enough to be almost intimate.
She smiled — small, polite, but genuine.
His gaze held hers a fraction longer than workplace formality required.
Then Eliza slowed beside her.
"Good morning, sir," Eliza said.
The managers with him straightened subtly. Respect entered the air like a quiet current.
Hailey registered it only peripherally — senior executive, clearly — but her focus remained anchored to familiarity.
So he works here.
Of course he does, she thought. Composed, assured, expensive car, western districts at dawn — corporate leadership fit him easily.
His eyes returned fully to her.
The same steadiness. The same contained gravity she had felt beside him in the car.
But now sharpened by awareness.
He had placed her.
And he knew exactly who she was here.
Eliza gestured lightly ahead. "We're just heading to Marketing."
His gaze flicked once to Eliza, then back to Hailey. Understanding aligned almost visibly behind his eyes.
New director.
Ms Hailey.
Of course.
"Good morning," he said.
The voice settled over her again — unchanged from the quiet road before sunrise.
"Good morning," she replied.
No reference to the airport. No shared acknowledgement spoken aloud.
But recognition moved clearly between them.
Eliza resumed walking. Hailey moved with her.
She glanced back once, instinctively.
He was still watching her.
Not boldly. Not possessively.
Simply with the focused attention of a man who had not expected to see someone again — and now had.
By the time she faced forward, a small, private thought had formed.
Nerua is smaller than I remember.
The stranger from four a.m. now existed inside her professional world.
And somehow, impossibly…
she was certain this would not be their last meeting.