The lock turns under his palm. The door opens a hand's width, just enough to catch a vibe.
Hall light. Wet hair. Laptop hugged to chest. Maya Reed. Hoodie, socks, deadline eyes.
"Hey, Carter," she says. "Sorry—do you have a minute?"
"A minute," Jace says.
"Our lab access renewals—due by midnight," she says in one breath. "My card keeps declining. If I transfer you $180, will you pay it with your card? I'm desperate."
"I can help you get it through with your card," Jace says. "I don't proxy-pay other people's bills. Not mistrust—process."
Max offers a friendly wince from the desk. "He's allergic to bad rails."
"If I get locked out, I lose microscope time and then I live in a culvert eating leaves," she says.
"Let's not culvert," Jace says, opening the door. "Come in."
She stands at the edge like she might break if she sits. "Show me the error," he says.
University Research Access Portal. $180 due. Attempts stamped issuer unavailable; suspected fraud.
"Three things," Jace says. "Clear browser gremlins. Call your bank. Run it while they watch."
"You make it sound like brushing your teeth," she says.
"Same discipline," he says. "Different cavities."
He talks her through private window. The HUD stays polite at the edge.
[SYSTEM PROMPT] Advisory: session end recommended. Resume after 08:00.
"Now your bank," he says.
She hits Fraud Prevention, toggles speaker. "Hi, I'm trying to pay a lab fee and you keep telling me no. It's not a yacht. It's a door."
The rep laughs. "I see $180 to academic services. Are you making this purchase now?"
"Yes."
"Try again while I watch."
She clicks Pay Renewals. The rep hums approval. "Approving… there. Run complete."
Payment Successful. Maya half-laughs, half-squeaks into her hand. "You're a hero," she tells the rep. "You're both heroes," she tells the room.
"Bank did it," Jace says. "Medals at breakfast," Max says.
Maya ends the call. "I owe you."
"Coffee after 08:00," Jace says. "And tell anyone else with the error to call the bank, not stab the button."
"Yes, dad," she says, affectionate. "Sorry. I'm feral."
"Feral with manners," Max says.
Her eyes flick to the desk—blue tape flags: ELEC CHAIN — $2,500. HOUSE — $1,200. DINING $100. She almost asks. Stops herself.
"We run a life," Jace says, easy.
Down the hall, a door opens, and a speaker stomps out bass. Two voices swell. The RA appears with his clipboard and reflective vest. "Quiet hours," he says, gentle.
Jace steps into the doorway. "I know that track," he tells the guy. "It sounds better at ten percent. More kick, less mud. Also your neighbor just saved her lab badge; don't make her cry."
Maya peeks and grins. "Be the hero your sub deserves."
Laughter. The volume drops to a hum. The RA ticks a box with the pen that means we did civilization.
Maya points her chin at the labels again. "I'll bribe you after eight to teach me how to make my life look like that—without whatever secrets you're definitely not using."
"Deal," Jace says. "It's receipts."
She makes a skeptical noise, steps back into the hall. "Goodnight, floor dads."
"Goodnight, science feral," Max says.
The elevator dings. Campus Safety and a custodian roll out: wet vac, mop, radios. "Laundry room, third floor—reported leak," the radio murmurs.
Water is already threading out from under the laundry door, sneaking along the tile's low line toward their threshold.
"Anyone see how long?" Campus Safety asks.
"Five to ten," the RA says. "It wasn't there on my last pass; I was influencing art."
"We could—" Max says.
"We could not," Jace says—then, "unless they need hands."
"We won't say no," Campus Safety says. "Keep doorways dry; push water toward the drain."
"Bless you if you've got a stack of towels," the custodian adds, kneeling by the wet vac.
Jace grabs their oldest towel, checks the desk (labels asleep, sleeves aligned, laptop closed), steps into the hall, and lays a cotton dam across their threshold. Max mirrors with a kitchen rag because heroism is what's within reach.
Maya reappears with towels she conjured from nowhere. Hands two to the custodian, keeps one to herd the line. "If this were a lab, we'd close the valve," she says.
"Valve's in back," the custodian says, wrestling the laundry door. He wins. The wet vac inhales like a polite dragon.
[SYSTEM PROMPT] Advisory: session ended. No additional executions until after 08:00.
"I heard you," Jace tells it under his breath, amused. He feels the pressure against the towel—light, manageable. A problem sized for hands.
"Tomorrow, marketplace at ten," Max says, eyes on the rag. "Sell the chain card in slices or keep?"
"Keep," Jace says. "We don't rush what the bank just learned to say yes to."
"Rails," Max says.
Water retreats. Shoulders drop along the hall. The RA's radio mutters about a fourth-floor toaster. The university is a village that keeps its fires small.
"Thanks for making this easy," Campus Safety says.
"That's our brand," Max says.
Maya glances at Jace's blue tape boats, his hands on cotton, his edges. "You were about to do something when I knocked," she says.
"End something," Jace says.
"That's a flex," she says, and pushes the last lick of water into the wet vac's mouth.
The elevator dings again. Another custodian arrives. The hall becomes normal again: damp, orderly, awake.
A hooded figure at the far end hesitates, phone light up. "Hey—were you the guy at the electronics store tonight?"
Max's eyes flick to Jace: attention.
Jace keeps his hand on the doorframe, an anchor not a flinch. He turns his head so the hood sees his face and the hall sees his hands.
"Depends who's asking," he says, easy.
The hood lowers. Taj—off shift, hoodie, umbrella on a backpack strap. He lifts a palm. "Off work," he says. "Live two blocks over. Came by to see a friend; building says laundry flood. Didn't expect… you."
The night leans forward.