I went into work the next morning like nothing had happened.
That wasn't unusual. It was a skill I'd learned early — how to keep moving while something unresolved followed closely behind. Quincy had barely spoken over breakfast, still wrapped in the quiet aftermath of the night before, and I hadn't pushed her to.
Some things needed space before they could be handled.
The office was already alive when I arrived. The familiar sounds of phones ringing, laptops opening and conversations starting and stopping in practiced rhythms. No one looked twice at me.
William was already in his office. His door was open. He was seated on his office chair facing his monitor, his posture composed. Our eyes met briefly as I passed.
But that was all there was to it.
I simply fixed myself into my workstation.
