My phone buzzed on the desk. I glanced at the screen and blinked. Cora. Video call. Well, that was unexpected.

I picked it up and leaned back in my chair. "Hey."

The screen flickered, then her face appeared—too close at first, like she'd shoved the phone right up to her cheek by accident. She yelped softly, pulled it back, and I saw more of her.

She was in a weird… costume.

"Oh," I said before I could stop myself. "Wow."

Cora froze. Her shoulders tensed immediately. "D-don't laugh."

"I wasn't going to," I said quickly. "I swear."

She shifted the phone a little farther away, giving me a full view. She was wearing something straight out of a dark fantasy anime—a monster-girl outfit. Black and deep violet fabric, form-fitting in places and loose in others. The top hugged her chest with sharp, angular cutouts, held together by thin straps that crossed over her collarbone. The sleeves were long and detached, clawed at the fingertips, and the skirt was short but layered, asymmetrical, with torn-looking edges that fluttered when she moved.

There were small horn accessories clipped into her hair, curving back just enough to be noticeable without looking ridiculous. A thin tail swayed behind her when she shifted her weight, clearly attached to a belt under the skirt. Thigh-high stockings with faint rune-like patterns climbed up her legs, stopping just before bare skin.

It was… anime as hell.

And yeah. A little sexy.

She hugged her free arm across her stomach, clearly self-conscious. "Esme said this one fit the theme. I don't even know if it does."

"It fits something," I said honestly.

She looked up at me through the screen, eyes wide behind her glasses. "E-Evan."

I smiled. "You look cute. And sexy. Both. Somehow."

Her face turned red immediately. "You're not helping."

"I'm being truthful."

She bit her lip, then adjusted the phone again. "I don't like showing people this stuff. I mean—cosplay. Or myself. Like this."

"I know," I said. "And you don't have to do it for anyone else. You're doing it because you agreed to try. That's already more than enough."

She hesitated, then nodded slowly. "I… Esme said the same thing."

As if summoned by name, a blurry shape drifted into the background.

"Sis?" a sleepy voice mumbled.

The camera shifted as Cora turned the phone slightly, and Esme wandered into view, half-lidded eyes, hair messy like she'd just rolled out of bed. She was wearing a completely different cosplay—soft, pastel-colored, oversized hoodie styled like some kind of sleepy mage or support character. The sleeves were too long, covering her hands, and there were little embroidered stars along the hem. A floppy wizard hat sat crooked on her head.

She yawned.

"Oh," I said, amused. "Hey, Esme."

She squinted at the screen. "Hi, Evan."

Cora glanced at her. "You're supposed to be helping me, not interrupting."

"I did help," Esme said, leaning her head against Cora's shoulder. "I picked the outfit. And I said you look good."

"You said I looked 'acceptable.'"

"That's high praise."

I chuckled. "You both look great."

Esme nodded slowly, like that settled the matter, then drifted out of frame again. I heard a couch creak in the background and something soft hitting a pillow.

Cora sighed. "She's already mentally done for the day."

"Well, yeah," I said. "Gotta conserve energy."

She nodded. "I'm still nervous. What if people stare?"

"They will," I said easily.

She stiffened. "That's not comforting."

"But they'll stare because it's a convention," I added. "Everyone's dressed up. Everyone's weird. You'll blend in more than you think."

She looked down, then back at the screen. "You'll be there, right?"

"Yeah," I said. "I promised."

"Okay." She took a breath. "Then I'll go."

The glass door of Nala's office slid open.

Anotta stepped out.

She walked past the desks with that same calm, dangerous composure, heels clicking softly against the floor. Didn't glance my way. Didn't acknowledge me at all.

"Hey," I said quickly into the phone. "I gotta go."

Cora nodded. "O-okay. Um… see you tomorrow."

"Yeah," I said. "You did good today."

She smiled—small, shy, but real. "Bye, Evan."

"Bye."

I ended the call, slipped the phone into my pocket, and stood up just as Anotta reached the elevators.

"Ms. Anotov," I called.

She didn't slow. Didn't turn.

The elevator doors slid open. She stepped inside like she hadn't heard a thing.

"Damn it," I muttered under my breath, exhaling slowly.

From behind the glass, Nala looked over at me. She wore a small, knowing smile and lifted her hand, gesturing for me to come in.

I hesitated for half a second, then walked toward her office.

I slid the glass door open with a sigh, and stepped inside. The room felt quieter than the hallway—muted, insulated. I pulled one of the chairs closer and sat at the small table beside her desk.

Nala leaned back in her chair and exhaled, long and tired, rubbing her temples with two fingers.

"God, she's exhausting," she said.

I didn't interrupt. I just leaned back, crossed my arms loosely, and listened.

"She's backing the project, yes," Nala continued, eyes drifting to the glass wall for a second. "But she's getting too involved. Asking questions that aren't her lane. Wanting updates that go beyond oversight. Pushing timelines, probing internal decisions." She shook her head slightly. "It's not overt, but it's there."

"Control," I said.

"Influence," she corrected. "She's smart enough to dress it up as concern. As interest. As support." A faint smile tugged at her lips, but it didn't reach her eyes. "And that's what bothers me."

I nodded slowly. "She doesn't feel like someone who invests and then waits."

"Exactly." Nala rested her elbow on the desk, chin on her knuckles. "She wants her fingerprints on everything. Not to run it—but to know she could, if she wanted."

That tracked. Way too well.

I shifted in my chair. "Does that put us in a bad position?"

"Not yet," she said. "And not necessarily ever. But it means we have to be careful. Clear boundaries. No shortcuts. No letting her think pressure works."

We sat there for a moment, the quiet settling in comfortably. The hum of the building. The distant murmur of people moving through the floor. Not tense—just tired.

"Well," I said eventually, pushing myself up, "I'll let you get back to ruling the world."

She huffed a quiet laugh. "Someone has to."

I stepped closer as I turned to leave, leaned down, and pressed a light kiss to her cheek. "Don't overwork yourself."

She glanced up at me, amused. "You don't get to say that."

"I just did."

I straightened, gave her a small smile, and headed for the door, sliding the glass open and stepping back into the hallway.

❤︎‬‪‪❤︎‬‪‪❤︎

The elevator doors slid open, and Amelia stepped out.

She didn't walk toward my desk. She didn't wave or call my name. She just stopped a few steps out of the elevator and waited, hands loosely around her coffee cup, posture straight as always. Like she'd calculated exactly where to stand so I'd notice her without her having to ask for anything.

I pushed my chair back and stood.

She looked up when I approached. "Hey."

"Hey," I said. "Ready?"

She nodded once. "Yeah."

We stepped into the elevator together. I pressed zero, and the doors slid shut with a soft thud. For a few seconds, the only sound was the hum of the cables.

"So," I said, breaking it gently, "how'd the rest of your day go?"

"Quiet," she replied. "Which is good. No fires to put out. No surprise meetings."

"Lucky."

That earned me the smallest huff of amusement. Barely there, but I caught it.

The elevator descended smoothly. I leaned back against the wall, hands in my pockets. "Still nervous?"

"A bit," she said honestly. "But less than yesterday."

"That's progress."

"I guess." She hesitated, then added, "I practiced the pedals in my head during lunch."

I smiled. "That might be the most Amelia sentence you've ever said."

She blinked, then shook her head. "I don't know if that's a compliment."

"It is."

The elevator dinged, doors opening to the lobby. We stepped out and headed for the exit together, passing through the quiet after-hours space. Outside, the air was cooler, the sky dim and heavy with clouds that hadn't decided whether they wanted to rain again.

We descended the front steps and crossed into the parking lot. My car sat where I'd left it, familiar and unassuming.

I walked around and opened the passenger door, sliding in. Amelia took the driver's side, setting her coffee down carefully in the cup holder like it might explode if mishandled.

I handed her the keys. She took them, fingers a little stiff, then leaned forward and tried to guide the key into the ignition.

Missed.

She frowned, adjusted her angle, tried again. Missed again. I didn't say anything. Just watched her hands instead of her face.

She exhaled slowly through her nose. "Sorry."

"Hey," I said calmly. "No rush. You've got it."

She paused, loosened her grip, then tried again. This time the key slid in smoothly.

"There you go," I said.

She let out a breath she'd clearly been holding and turned the key. The engine came to life.

We sat there for a second, the car idling.

"Same as yesterday," I said. "We'll start slow. Just the lot. No pressure."

She nodded. "Okay."

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