The city felt different when she came back—not louder or brighter, just heavier in its quiet.  

Luminara had a way of pretending nothing ever changed, but Samantha noticed the small shifts: the smell of new paint in the lobby, the hum of an elevator that stuttered for half a second longer than before, the way Nathan’s door was open just a little wider.  

Her desk looked exactly the same, but she didn’t.  

Two days away had given her something she couldn’t name—a pause, maybe, or the faint outline of a different rhythm.  

“Morning,” Miles called from across the floor. “Welcome back to capitalism.”  

“Miss me?”  

“Desperately. The office nearly collapsed without your Excel magic.”  

She grinned. “How did you survive?”  

“Caffeine and denial. Same as always.”  

She laughed, and it felt good—unpracticed, almost like remembering how.  

Nathan appeared at her desk later that morning, holding a file.  

“Client review moved to tomorrow. Can you double-check the projections?”  

“Already did.”  

He blinked, surprised. “Of course you did.”  

“I was bored on the train.”  

His mouth twitched, almost a smile. “Efficient even in transit.”  

“I try.”  

There was an ease between them that hadn’t existed before—not quite comfort, but less tension.  

She noticed the way he lingered, as if waiting for something else to say.  

“How was your trip?” he asked finally.  

“Quiet.”  

“Sounds nice.”  

“It was.”  

He nodded, eyes unreadable, then turned and walked away. But his step faltered at the doorway, just enough to suggest that maybe he wanted to stay.  

Work settled back into its rhythm, but it no longer felt like survival.  

Nathan started asking for her opinion more openly, not as a test but as trust.  

And Samantha, for the first time, pushed back when she disagreed.  

One afternoon, she challenged a proposal mid-meeting. “That plan’s not feasible within the budget,” she said.  

Claire raised an eyebrow, but Nathan only leaned back, considering.  

“Then what do you suggest?”  

Samantha outlined a quick adjustment—realistic, sharp.  

Nathan nodded. “Do it.”  

Claire looked mildly impressed. Miles looked thrilled.  

After the meeting, he cornered her near the elevator. “Look at you, speaking CEO!”  

“I spoke logic.”  

“Same thing, only cheaper.”  

She rolled her eyes, but he grinned wider. “Seriously, though—you two are finally in sync. It’s unnerving.”  

“Don’t start.”  

“I’m just saying,” he whispered, “whatever changed, it suits you.”  

She didn’t answer, but she knew what he meant. The distance between her and Nathan wasn’t gone—it had just shifted shape, from avoidance to awareness.  

Thursday night dragged longer than usual.  

A sudden storm had swept through Luminara, flooding half the streets and knocking out power across several blocks. The office generator flickered uncertainly, lights dimming every few minutes.  

Most employees had gone home early, but Samantha stayed behind to finish a report. Nathan was still in his office, of course.  

By nine, the building went completely dark.  

“Seriously?” she muttered, tapping her keyboard. Nothing.  

Nathan’s voice came from the hallway. “Backup’s down.”  

She turned, faint outlines of his figure visible in the emergency glow. “You okay?”  

“Fine. You?”  

“I’ve lost three hours of work, so… thriving.”  

He stepped closer, the sound of his shoes soft against the carpet. “Come on. Let’s head to the stairwell—it’s cooler there.”  

They found their way with the faint light from his phone. The stairwell was quiet, concrete walls echoing the distant rumble of rain outside.  

“Any idea how long this’ll last?” she asked.  

“An hour, maybe two.”  

“Great.” She sat on the step, hugging her knees. “Guess this is what they call mandatory mindfulness.”  

He sat beside her. “You’re not good at being still.”  

“Neither are you.”  

He smiled slightly. “Fair.”  

For a few minutes, they listened to the rain. The silence between them wasn’t sharp anymore—it felt like a space that could hold both of them without breaking.  

“Can I ask you something?” she said quietly.  

“Of course.”  

“What keeps you going?”  

He exhaled, leaning back against the wall. “Fear, probably.”  

“Of what?”  

“Stopping.”  

She turned to him. “That’s not an answer.”  

“It’s the only one I’ve got.”  

“Then you need a better one.”  

He looked at her, eyes steady. “What about you? What keeps *you* going?”  

She thought for a moment. “Maybe the hope that it all means something.”  

“Does it?”  

“Some days.”  

He nodded, the corner of his mouth softening. “That’s better than most.”  

Lightning flashed faintly through the stairwell window, a quick pulse of white before disappearing.  

“I used to think,” he said after a while, “that if I just worked hard enough, everything would stay under control. But people aren’t… spreadsheets.”  

She smiled. “No, we’re not.”  

“Frustrating.”  

“Unpredictable.”  

“Dangerous.”  

“Worth it.”  

That silenced him.  

The storm outside eased. The building creaked like it was exhaling.  

When the lights flickered back on, they were still sitting there—side by side, not touching, but close enough that the air between them felt charged in a quiet way neither dared name.  

Nathan stood first, brushing invisible dust from his sleeve. “We should probably get back.”  

“Right.” She stood too, but neither moved toward the door.  

“Thanks for… staying calm,” he said finally.  

“You make it sound like I had a choice.”  

“You always do.”  

She met his eyes. “So do you.”  

The words hung there, heavier than they should’ve been.  

Finally, he opened the door, holding it for her. “After you.”  

She walked through, her hand brushing his as she passed. It was accidental, or maybe not.  

Either way, neither of them looked back.  

The next morning, Miles appeared at her desk with a knowing grin. “Heard about the great blackout adventure.”  

She froze mid-keystroke. “From who?”  

“Building security. They think you two are secretly married now.”  

She glared. “You’re impossible.”  

He winked. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”  

Before she could reply, Nathan stepped out of his office. “Meeting in ten.”  

Miles leaned closer, whispering, “See? He even *sounds* different.”  

“Goodbye, Miles.”  

He saluted and retreated.  

Samantha exhaled, smiling despite herself. When she looked up, Nathan was watching her from across the room.  

He didn’t smile, not really—but his eyes softened, like a quiet acknowledgment of everything they hadn’t said.  

And for the first time, the silence between them didn’t feel like something to fix.  

It felt like the start of something they might finally learn how to keep.