(Alex POV)
London feels quieter at night.
Not in the way cities usually do not empty or asleep but restrained, like everything important has already been said during the day and the streets are just holding onto the echoes. From my hotel window, the lights stretch out in orderly rows, glass and steel reflecting one another until the city becomes a pattern instead of a place.
It's been almost two months.
Longer than I expected.
The acquisition has gone better than well, if I'm being honest. Every meeting folding into another, every negotiation requiring just one more conversation, one more adjustment. Hale Industries is expanding in a way I envisioned years ago, when this was still an idea and not a reality. The groundwork I laid early in my career is finally paying off.
By every measurable standard, this is success.
My phone buzzes on the desk beside me.
Momthe caller Id displays on my phone screen.
I answer before it can ring again.
""You know," she says without preamble, "I'm starting to forget what my son looks like."
I smile despite myself. "That's dramatic."
"I'm serious," she replies. "You're always somewhere else."
"London isn't permanent," I say.
"I'll make up for it, I am here just for a few more weeks. When I'm back, dinner's on me."
"A few more weeks," she repeats. "You've been saying that for a while."
"This time it's true," I reply lightly. "The deal's almost done."
She pauses. "You sound proud."
"I am," I admit. "It's going well."
"I'm glad," she says softly. "Just don't forget there's more to life than expansion plans."
I smile again. "I won't."
When the call ends, the room feels quieter than before.
The virtual team call starts in ten minutes. The meeting I requested it myself.
Partly to review progress. Partly to remind people that even from another continent, I'm still present. And partly though I don't articulate this even internally — because I want to see her.
I open the meeting link early.
One by one, the screen fills.
Vivienne joins first, seated at her desk, posture impeccable. Tessa appears next, framed by the conference room behind her, tablet already in hand.
A few department heads follow. Then Daniel. My gaze catches on him longer than it should. There's something about seeing him there that unsettles me not because of the work, but because of the association. The ease with which Elara speaks to him. The way she seems… lighter around him. Less guarded.
The thought sharpens unexpectedly.
I push it aside. This isn't the time. I thought to myself
I scan the screen again.
Elara isn't there.
I wait for a while but not long enough for anyone to notice, but long enough for the absence to register.
"Is everyone who needs to be here present?" I ask, keeping my tone neutral.
"Yes," Vivienne answers smoothly.
I nod once. "Alright. Let's begin."
The meeting goes by smoothly.
Tessa leads the discussion with confidence, outlining milestones, timelines, performance metrics. She speaks like someone who knows she's being listened to controlled, polished, unhurried. Vivienne adds context where necessary, reinforcing the narrative of steady progress.
Everything looks clean.
Still, my attention drifts back to the participant list more than once.
Her name never appears.
When the call ends, I close the laptop without comment.
The silence that follows feels heavier than it should. I tell myself it doesn't matter. People have reasons. Absences happen. And yet, the expectation lingers.
Later in the night, there's a knock at my door.
I don't look up immediately. "Come in." I say.
Daniel steps inside, hesitating just slightly before speaking.
"Sorry to disturb you this late," he says. "If it weren't urgent, I wouldn't have."
I gesture toward the table. "No problem, I was anyway awake, please go ahead."
As he walks in fully, that same flicker of irritation surfaces again uninvited, unwanted. The memory of Elara beside him in the office, shoulders relaxed, expression open in a way I've never quite earned.
I shut the thought down immediately.
This is work.
Daniel places his laptop on the table between us and opens a file to a marked page.
"There's a clause in the acquisition contract that's been sitting unresolved," he says. "It shouldn't be."
I scan the document. The analysis is detailed, precise the kind of work that doesn't just react to risk but anticipates it.
"This is good," I say. "Why wasn't it escalated?"
Daniel turns the screen slightly towards me so I can see the margin note.
'Please ignore the recommendation above. Contributor does not have sufficient understanding of the broader scope.'
I read it once.
Then again.
"Tessa?" I ask.
"Yes," he replies.
"But wasn't she the one who did all these analysis in the first place?" I asked.
Daniel nods. "That attribution isn't accurate."
I look up.
"The work was done by Elara," he continues. "She consulted me briefly to validate a secondary pathway, but the structure and analysis are hers."
He doesn't emphasize it. He doesn't soften it.
He's stating a fact.
I return my attention to the document.
It's familiar now that I'm really looking at it the way the risk flows forward instead of sideways, the way contingencies are built quietly into the model rather than announced.
"How long has this been stalled?" I ask.
"Several weeks."
"And no one flagged it?"
"There was no incentive to," Daniel replies evenly. "The comment effectively neutralized it."
I close the laptop slowly.
"You're bringing this to me because…?" I prompt.
"Because the delay increases exposure," he says. "And because correcting it later will be more disruptive. And you are the only person who can expedite it before any major issue arises due to it."
I nod once. "Leave this with me I will see what can be done."
He stands. "Of course."
At the door, he pauses.
"For what it's worth," he adds, "this isn't isolated."
He doesn't elaborate. He doesn't need to.
After he leaves, I remain where I am, the file still open in front of me.
My mind drifts back to the call.
To the empty space where her face should have been.
To the ease with which I accepted the explanation that things were running smoothly.
I open the file again.
Her name is still mentioned on the screen, but her input disregarded by one simple comment.
I don't reach for my phone.
I don't call Vivienne.
I sit there, recalibrating.
Because something about the narrative I've been receiving no longer aligns and when systems stop aligning, it's rarely because of the numbers.
It's because of the humans behind them.