(Elara POV)
The evening passes more gently than I expect.
Kyla helps me unpack what little I have . A few folded clothes, my laptop bag, toiletries arranged neatly in the bathroom cabinet and we're done in less than half an hour. There's something oddly comforting about how quickly it comes together, like my life hasn't been reduced to chaos after all.
"This is it?" Kyla asks, glancing around the room with a smile.
"This is it!" I say, laughing softly. "I travel light these days."
She shakes her head but doesn't push. Kyla has always known when not to ask questions a kindness I didn't realize how much I'd missed until now.
She insists on making dinner.
A proper one.
We sit at bt the dining table, plates warm, the room filled with the quiet clatter of cutlery and conversation that flows without effort.
High school stories.
Her new job.
The city.
I tell her about work carefully, selectively and about my mother, the treatments, the waiting. Things I haven't said out loud in a long time spill out more easily than I expect, maybe because she doesn't look at me with pity.
Only familiarity.
Like she remembers who I was before everything got heavy.
By the time I glance at the clock, it's past midnight.
"We have all the time in the world," Kyla says, stretching as she stands. "But now, we sleep!"
I shower, change, and slide into bed feeling something I haven't felt in weeks.
Safe.
For the first time in days, I fall asleep without bracing myself for what tomorrow might take from me.
Morning comes quietly.
Pale light filtering through the curtains and the low hum of the city waking up below.
I get ready quickly, drink a glass of juice in the kitchen, and grab my bag.
"I'll see you tonight," I tell Kyla as I head for the door.
She smiles, still half-asleep. "See you!"
The walk to the office takes ten minutes.
Ten!
No subway crowds. No pressing myself into corners. Just a straight stretch of pavement and glass buildings reflecting the early light. It surprises me how much that alone lifts my mood , how walking instead of being carried along by everyone else makes me feel grounded.
When I step into the office, I realize something else.
I feel… lighter.
Not happy, exactly. But steadier. Like the ground beneath my feet has stopped shifting at least for now.
I set my bag down, organize my desk with small, familiar movements, and head to the water cooler.
That's when I see Daniel.
The memory of Friday flickers through my mind — the way I'd unraveled, the way he hadn't tried to fix anything, only stayed. It still makes my chest tighten, but not uncomfortably. More like a reminder that I wasn't alone in that moment.
I offer him a small, genuine smile. "Good morning."
He returns it easily, coffee cup in hand. "Morning. You look… good today."
I blink, surprised.
"Thank you," I say, then hesitate. "I actually wanted to thank you. For… before."
He shakes his head lightly, like it isn't worth mentioning. "Don't. We all need someone to lean on sometimes."
Then, with a quick wink, "You can count on me."
He walks off, and I sit at my desk with a faint smile lingering on my face.
Friendship.
I'd forgotten how much it mattered — how much difference it makes just knowing someone sees you without expectation.
I'm just unlocking my computer when a familiar voice cuts through the office.
"Miss Moore. Got a minute?"
I look up.
Mr. Hale is standing near my desk.
"Yes, of course."
I follow him into his office, aware again of how his presence changes the air around him. He takes his seat, posture composed, authority effortless. For a brief second, his gaze lingers on me not lingering exactly, just… observant. As if he's taking stock of something he didn't expect.
"You seem well today," he says.
"I feel better," I reply. "Thank you."
He shifts slightly in his chair. "I need you to reschedule my afternoon meeting. And—" he slides a file across the desk "—I want you to go through these documents."
I glance at them, then back at him.
"There's an upcoming meeting," he continues. "I want you to prepare a presentation. Keep it between you and me. You'll report directly to me on this."
Something tightens in my chest.
Directly.
I think of the access that was taken from me. The quiet exclusions. The way doors had closed without explanation.
Still, I nod. "Of course. By when?"
"End of day," he says. "If that works."
"It does."
His nod is brief, final.
For a split second, I get the strangest feeling like my good mood unsettles him. As if seeing me steady again isn't what he expected.
I shake the thought away.
Work is work.
Back at my desk, I immerse myself completely. Numbers calm me. Patterns make sense in a way people often don't. Time passes without notice, the quiet focus wrapping around me like armor.
When I finally look up, the office has thinned out. Chairs are empty. Conversations muted as people pack up and leave.
I gather my notes and head back to Mr. Hale's office.
"Come in," he says when I knock.
I step inside. "This is taking a little longer than I anticipated, but I've run preliminary checks. If now's a good time, I can walk you through what I've done so far."
He nods without looking up.
I sit opposite him, turn my laptop around, and begin explaining the adjustments, the inconsistencies I flagged, the reasoning behind my numbers. He listens closely, asks pointed questions, pushes back where it matters.
Then he pauses.
"Your adjustment here," he says, tapping the screen, "is accurate."
The approval is quiet.
It still matters.
"I'll finish the rest by tomorrow morning," I say. "First half of the day, latest."
"That's fine," he replies.
When I leave his office, the floor is nearly empty.
I pack my bag and head home.
As the elevator doors slide shut, I catch my reflection in the mirrored wall — tired, yes, but not broken.
For the first time in weeks, I didn't dread today.
And that scares me a little.
Because peace has never lasted long in my life.