It was hours later when the quiet knock came, not the tentative kind that suggested someone feared interrupting, but the precise, measured rhythm of someone who knew they wouldn't be turned away.
Trevor didn't look up immediately. His fingers finished the last clean stroke of a sentence on the unregistered file before he closed the window and let the screen go dark, reflecting only his own faint smile back at him.
"Come in," he said, the words low, unhurried, and almost lazy.
Lucas stepped inside, a thin folder tucked under one arm, the faintest trace of cool air following him in from the corridor. His eyes swept the room once, lingering just long enough on Trevor's rolled sleeves and the way his jacket was draped over the back of the chair to confirm that whatever Trevor had been doing, it hadn't been routine office work.
"You didn't come back," Lucas said.
"I was working," Trevor replied, deceptively mild, leaning back in his chair like a man enjoying an idle afternoon.
