Maya’s morning started with the kind of headache that meant she had slept too hard, not that she had slept too little. She rolled out of bed, checked her phone, and found exactly zero messages from Evan, which somehow felt normal and disappointing at the same time.

She tried not to think about the test booth. She tried not to think about how long they stood in the lobby before going separate ways. She especially tried not to think about the way he looked at her before opening the door for her.

She failed at all three.

Her shift didn’t start until afternoon, so she wandered to a small café near her apartment—one she rarely visited because it was usually filled with laptop people who typed like the world was ending. Today was no different. She ordered a sandwich, sat at a corner table, and stared at nothing.

Her phone buzzed.

She told herself not to smile.

**Morning. —E**

She typed back:

**u didnt sleep?**

**I did.

Meeting soon.

But something happened and I might need you later.**

She frowned.

**what happened**

There was a longer pause than usual.

**A distributor wants to pull out of a contract.

It’s not catastrophic.

Just inconvenient.**

She had no idea what that meant, but she typed:

**ok?**

**I’ll tell you after your shift.

If you’re not too tired.**

She stared at that for a moment.

**im always tired**

**Then I’ll make it quick.**

She didn’t know what to do with the small knot forming in her chest, so she took a bite of her sandwich instead.

By the time Maya arrived at the bar, Zoe was already wiping down glasses and singing the wrong lyrics to a song that wasn’t playing.

“You look like you’re thinking again,” Zoe said.

“I exist. This is my face.”

“It’s a thinking face.”

“It’s a resting face.”

“Your resting face is a thinking face.”

Maya dropped her bag behind the counter. “Stop analyzing me.”

“No.”

“Zoe.”

“Fine. I’ll stop when you stop being suspiciously glowy.”

“I’m not glowy.”

“That sentence was glowy.”

Maya grabbed an apron and ignored her.

Work started slow. A few people ordered lunch drinks. A couple argued quietly in a corner. Someone spilled a beer and blamed gravity. Normal things. But Maya’s mind kept drifting—Evan’s message, the test booth, him saying time felt different with her.

She pretended she didn’t hear her thoughts.

Around five, her phone buzzed in her pocket. She didn’t check it. She refused. She had boundaries now. Or she wanted to. Maybe.

At six, she caved.

**Still alive? —E**

She typed:

**barely**

**I’ll pick you up at ten.

Unless you say no.**

She stared at the message longer than necessary.

**dont be early**

**I won’t.

Probably.**

She rolled her eyes into the floor.

At 9:57, Maya stepped outside to breathe. The air was warm, humid, the kind that stuck to her skin. She checked the time again.

9:58.

9:59.

A car pulled up at 10:01, just enough for him to claim he wasn’t early.

The passenger window rolled down.

“You’re on time,” Evan said.

“So are you.”

“That was the goal.”

She got in. He drove.

But this wasn’t like the ride to the booth. Evan looked… tense. Not dramatic tense. Not panicking. Just tightly wound, more than usual.

“What’s wrong?” Maya asked.

He kept his eyes on the road. “Nothing major.”

“That’s not an answer.”

He exhaled. “I’ll explain when we get there.”

“Where is there?”

“You’ll see.”

“That’s suspicious.”

“I know.”

She folded her arms but didn’t push him again.

The car rolled to a stop in front of Sterling & Co., but he didn’t head toward the main entrance. Instead, he parked near a smaller side door Maya hadn’t seen before.

He unbuckled his seatbelt and looked at her. “This won’t take long.”

“That sentence never leads to something short.”

“I deserve that.”

“Yes.”

He opened the door, and she followed.

Inside, the hallway was dimmer than the rest of the building—not gloomy, just low light, almost like it was a storage wing. Evan scanned his badge at a locked door, and it clicked open.

The room inside wasn’t the booth room. It also wasn’t an office. It was some kind of warehouse space—shelves, pallets, stacked boxes with labels, machines she couldn’t name.

“What is this?” Maya asked.

“Secondary storage.”

“For what?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he walked toward a cluster of boxes near the far wall.

“Something was delivered wrong,” he said. “And someone wants to blame my team for it.”

She blinked. “Can they do that?”

“They’re trying.”

She followed him to the boxes. Some were open. Inside were small bottled products—serums, creams, things with labels still missing.

“This batch wasn’t supposed to go out yet,” he said. “Someone shipped half of it by mistake.”

Maya frowned. “So… fix it?”

“It’s not that simple. If the distributor claims we misled them, it becomes leverage.”

“That sounds annoying.”

“It is.”

He crouched beside a box, scanning one of the bottles with a small handheld device.

Maya stood there, unsure what she was supposed to do. “Why am I here?”

He stayed crouched. “Because when people start getting loud and complicated, I get too focused. Too tunnel-vision. I need someone who’s not inside the problem.”

“That’s me?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

He didn’t look up. “You don’t get lost in the noise.”

She didn’t know what to say to that.

“So what do you need?” she asked.

“Just stay for a minute.”

“That’s vague.”

“I know.”

She watched him scan another bottle. His jaw was tight. His shoulders stiff. Not angry—just locked up. Maya had never seen him like this.

She crossed her arms. “You get weird when things go wrong.”

He paused. “Is that a judgment?”

“No. It’s an observation.”

He finally looked up at her. “Is it that obvious?”

“Kind of.”

He stood. “Great.”

She stared at him. He stared back.

Finally she said, “Want me to tell you it’s fine?”

“No.”

“Good. I wasn’t going to.”

He actually laughed once—short, quiet, but real.

It surprised both of them.

Evan rubbed the back of his neck and walked over to another stack of boxes. “The good news is the batch number matches what we still have here. Which means the mix-up happened outside, not internally.”

“And that’s good because…?”

“Because it proves we didn’t screw up.”

Maya nodded like she understood. She understood nothing.

“So tell them that,” she said.

“It’s not that simple.”

“You say that a lot.”

“It’s usually true.”

She walked closer and nudged a box with her foot. “So the distributor wants to use this to push you around?”

“In so many words.”

“And you don’t like being pushed around.”

He huffed. “Not particularly.”

“Then push back.”

He blinked at her like she’d said something profound.

“That’s the simplest way to put it,” he said.

“It’s the only way I understand it.”

He almost smiled.

She glanced around the room again—boxes, shadows, quiet hum of machinery. “So what are you supposed to do now?”

“Document the mistake. Send proof. Prepare for a very annoying call tomorrow.”

“So… paperwork.”

“Yes.”

“Tragic.”

He exhaled again, but this time less tense. “You make this sound easier than it is.”

“I’m not making it easier. I’m just… saying it out loud.”

“That helps,” he said quietly.

Maya shifted her weight. The room suddenly felt too still. Too close.

“So you dragged me here to… make noise?” she asked.

He lifted a shoulder. “To clear mine.”

“That was almost poetic.”

“Don’t say that.”

She smirked. “Why not? Afraid I’ll ruin your image?”

“I don’t have an image.”

“You absolutely do.”

He didn’t argue.

She stepped to the side, looking at the stacks of boxes again. “So this won’t destroy your business.”

“No.”

“It won’t destroy your day.”

“Not entirely.”

“And it won’t destroy you.”

He gave her a look. “You’re overselling the metaphor.”

“Maybe.”

He leaned against a shelf. The tension in his shoulders was still there, but lighter now. “Thank you for coming.”

“You didn’t give me details.”

“You still came.”

She avoided his eyes. “You sounded weird.”

“Weird?”

“Weird for you. Which is still less weird than most people.”

He laughed again—another short, unpolished sound.

Maya crossed her arms. “So… are you done panicking or whatever this was?”

“I wasn’t panicking.”

“You sure?”

He nodded once. “I just needed to reset.”

“And I’m the reset button?”

He looked at her for a long second. “You’re something close.”

Her stomach dropped in a way she didn’t appreciate.

“That’s dumb,” she said.

“Probably.”

“Stop agreeing.”

He didn’t.

He pushed away from the shelf and took a breath. “Okay. I’m done here. Let’s get you out before someone thinks I’m putting you to work.”

“I could work here.”

“No.”

“Wow.”

“You’d set something on fire.”

“That was one time.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You set something on fire?”

She looked away. “Not important.”

He shook his head, amused. “Come on.”

They stepped back into the hallway. The door closed behind them with a heavy click. The air out here felt lighter, or maybe that was just him.

In the elevator, Maya leaned against the wall. “So what happens tomorrow?”

“I argue with people who pretend to be reasonable.”

“Sounds terrible.”

“It is.”

“And you’ll be fine.”

He looked at her. “Will I?”

“Yes. Because you’re annoying when you’re stressed, but not useless.”

“That’s… comforting?”

“I’m not trying to comfort you.”

“You failed.”

She groaned. “Don’t make this a thing.”

“It already is.”

The elevator doors opened. He didn’t step out immediately.

“You hungry?” he asked.

“I have a shift.”

“After?”

“I’ll be dead.”

“I’ll bring food.”

Maya blinked. “What?”

“You have to eat.”

“Not with you.”

“With me nearby.”

“That’s the same thing.”

“Not exactly.”

She stared at him. “You’re difficult.”

“You say that often.”

“Because it’s true.”

“Still going to bring food.”

She sighed. “Fine. But don’t bring anything healthy.”

“I wouldn’t.”

They walked toward the side door. When they reached the outside air, Maya stopped.

“What?” he asked.

“You’re not tense anymore.”

“No,” he said. “You helped.”

“By doing nothing?”

“By being here.”

She felt something tighten in her chest again—small, sharp, but not scary.

“That’s weird,” she said.

“I know.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

“Too late.”

She made a frustrated noise that wasn’t actually frustrated.

He held the door open for her. “Go to work before you’re late.”

She stepped through. “Bring fries.”

“I will.”

She took a few steps toward the bar, then paused.

She didn’t look back.

But she didn’t have to.

She knew he was still standing there, watching long after she disappeared around the corner.