The afternoon passed with a strange, almost pleasant ease.
Selena noticed it first in the small things. In the way time no longer dragged between tasks. In how the clock on her screen seemed to move faster than it had all morning. Work, which had felt heavy and deliberate earlier, now slipped into a rhythm that didn't require effort. Her shoulders loosened without her realising it. The constant, low-level tension she'd been carrying since the hospital, tight and vigilant, like she was bracing for something she couldn't name, began to fade.
She found herself laughing more than she had in days.
Not the careful, polite smiles she offered out of habit, but real laughter, brief, surprised bursts that escaped before she could stop them. It caught her off guard every time, as though her body was responding faster than her mind. Each laugh loosened something in her chest, easing the tightness she hadn't admitted was there.
Conversations flowed easily. Effortlessly.
Freddy was good company in a way that didn't demand attention. He talked when there was something worth saying and fell silent just as easily, filling the gaps with an easy presence rather than expectation. He listened without interrupting, laughed at the right moments, and never lingered long enough to feel intrusive.
When Selena struggled with a stubborn spreadsheet formula, staring at the numbers until they began to blur together, Freddy rolled his chair closer.
"Here," he said quietly, leaning over her shoulder. "You're overcomplicating it."
She glanced at him. "I am not."
He smiled. "You absolutely are."
He pointed at the screen, explaining in a calm, patient voice. As he leaned in, his shoulder brushed hers, light, unintentional, gone as quickly as it came. The contact sent a brief, unexpected warmth through her, startling in its simplicity.
She adjusted the formula.
The numbers aligned perfectly.
"That worked," she said, a little surprised.
"Told you," Freddy replied, leaning back.
It felt… safe.
The realisation came unbidden, settling gently in her thoughts. Safe in a way that didn't require vigilance or explanation. Safe in a way that didn't demand she be anything other than present.
She didn't know when safety had become something she noticed.
Across the office, Adam noticed.
He noticed far more than he wanted to.
He noticed how often Freddy found small, reasonable excuses to stop by Selena's desk, questions that could've been emails, comments that didn't require follow-up. He noticed how Selena leaned in when Freddy spoke, how her posture softened, how her smile came more easily, more openly, than it had earlier that day.
He noticed the way she laughed.
It shouldn't have bothered him.
He told himself that firmly, repeatedly, as he turned back to his computer screen. Freddy was a colleague. Selena was an employee. Whatever ease existed between them was none of his concern.
And yet.
It did bother him.
The unease crept in slowly, insidious and unwelcome, settling somewhere beneath his ribs. He buried it under work, forcing his focus back onto emails and reports, onto meetings that demanded his full attention. He reminded himself that this distance, professionalism, was exactly what he wanted. What he needed.
But when he finally emerged from his office again, the sound reached him before the sight.
Selena was laughing.
Her head was tipped back slightly, her expression unguarded, the moment so genuine it made something in his chest tighten unexpectedly. The sound was light, effortless, nothing like the careful composure she usually wore.
It hit him harder than he expected.
Adam stopped short.
For a brief, unguarded second, he let himself feel it, the sharp, irrational pull of it, before turning away without a word, retreating back into the safety of his office.
He closed the door behind him more firmly than necessary.
***
By the time the workday began winding down, Selena felt lighter than she had in days.
It wasn't the kind of lightness that came with excitement or relief, but something quieter, subtler, almost cautious. Like a weight she hadn't realised she was carrying had been set down gently rather than dropped. She leaned back in her chair for a moment, rolling her shoulders once, then reached for her bag.
She packed her things slowly, deliberately, lingering over small tasks that didn't really need doing. Straightening papers that were already aligned. Closing tabs she could've left open. Checking her calendar even though she knew nothing was scheduled. It gave her time to ease out of the day instead of ending it abruptly.
A dull ache began to form behind her temples.
Selena paused, fingers stilling on the strap of her bag. The headache wasn't sharp, just a low, persistent pressure, the kind that made the world feel slightly farther away than usual. She blinked once, then again, and the edges of her vision blurred for a brief moment, like someone had smudged the glass she was looking through.
She frowned faintly.
Too much screen time, she decided. Or maybe dehydration. Or just exhaustion catching up to her now that the day was finally slowing down. She pressed her fingers lightly against her temple, then let her hand drop when the ache didn't worsen.
It didn't feel alarming. Just inconvenient.
Martha's voice pulled her attention back.
"So," Martha was saying, animated as ever, "this weekend I am either going to rest, reorganise my entire apartment, or make one extremely bad decision. I haven't decided which yet."
Selena smiled faintly and nodded, letting the sound of Martha's chatter anchor her. She offered noncommittal responses, small hums, and an occasional "that sounds… ambitious", just enough to make it clear she was listening without actually committing to anything herself.
The headache lingered, pulsing softly, but the blur in her vision faded as quickly as it had come. Selena exhaled quietly, relieved. Whatever it was, it seemed to be passing.
Freddy lingered nearby, pretending to be deeply invested in whatever was on his phone. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, glancing up occasionally as if waiting for the right moment to speak.
"You heading out?" he asked casually.
"Yeah," Selena replied, slinging her bag over her shoulder. The movement made the ache throb once, sharper this time, but it dulled almost immediately.
"Same."
They walked toward the elevators together, their pace unhurried. The silence between them settled easily, comfortable rather than awkward. It didn't feel like something that needed filling, and Selena found herself appreciating that more than she expected. Her head still ached faintly, but the quiet helped.
Halfway down the corridor, the lights seemed to flicker, not actually flicker, she realised, but soften. She blinked again, slower this time, and the sensation passed. Her vision cleared completely.
Definitely tired, she told herself.
"I'm glad you're okay," Freddy said suddenly, his voice quieter now, more sincere.
She glanced at him. "Me too."
And she meant it. The words felt true in her mouth, steady and uncomplicated. The headache was already receding, leaving behind only a faint echo.
Freddy smiled, soft, genuine, unguarded. "See you tomorrow."
"See you."
The elevator doors slid closed between them, sealing off the hallway noise and leaving Selena alone inside. She leaned back against the mirrored wall, watching her reflection as the elevator began its descent.
For a second, her face looked slightly unfamiliar, not wrong, just distant, like she was seeing herself through water. She blinked once more, and the image sharpened instantly.
Normal.
She studied her own face for a moment longer.
She looked normal.
She felt normal.
The headache faded completely, leaving behind nothing but a faint sense of having pushed herself just enough to notice.
Selena straightened as the elevator chimed softly.
She let herself believe that normal meant something.
And for now, that was enough.
Adam was still in his office when his phone rang.
The number on the screen erased the lingering warmth of the day instantly.
He answered without greeting. "What is it?"
The voice on the other end was tense, clipped. "We have a situation."
Adam straightened. "Talk."
"One of the families is making moves. Quiet ones."
His jaw tightened. "Where?"
"Near the docks. And there's more."
A pause stretched just long enough to be deliberate.
"They mentioned the Codes."
Adam closed his eyes briefly.
The room felt colder.
"I'm on my way," he said, already reaching for his jacket.
The call ended.
Outside his office, the lights dimmed as employees filtered out, unaware of the shift that had just occurred. Laughter echoed faintly down the corridor. Conversations carried on, untouched.
Adam stepped into the hallway, his expression smooth, controlled, unreadable.
Whatever peace the day had offered was over.