I sign my name.
Amara Saira Khan.
When I slide the document back across the desk, Corin picks it up and reads my signature like it contains some kind of hidden subtext.
Which, to be fair, it absolutely does.
“We’re not okay,” I say quietly.
He looks up, meeting my eyes. “I know.”
“But we’re trying,” I add.
He blinks a few times, and his chin does this quivery thing, but then it’s gone, and he nods.
Did Corin almost cry?
That would be a first.
I open my legal pad and make three small dots in the margin. A private annotation that means:this moment matters and I don’t know what to do with it.
Corin clears his throat and slides a folder across the desk. “Williams family lease. Marisol flagged it this morning. Developer’s trying to insert a mineral rights clause retroactively. Can you draft a response?”
I nod once and pull the folder toward me.
Corin returns to his laptop. I return to mine. We work in silence for another hour, the only sounds the clicking of keyboards and the distant rhythm of waves against the island’s coastline.
At some point, he gets up and makes coffee. Brings me a cup without asking. Black, no sugar.
I take it without commenting, but my fingers brush his when he sets it down.
Neither of us pulls away immediately.
Which is how Marisol finds us when she walks in a second later.
“Amara!”
We jerk apart like teenagers caught making out behind the gym.
“I saw your email this morning,” Marisol continues. Her smile is genuine. “I’m so glad you’re staying another week. The Morrison family will be relieved. They specifically asked if you could handle their follow-up.”
“Happy to help,” I manage, trying to sound like someone who didn’t just have an extended hand-touching moment with her employer.
Marisol glances between us, and I swear I see amusement in her eyes. “I’ll let you both get back to work. Just wanted to say welcome back.”
She disappears back into the main clinic area, and I’m left staring at my coffee cup like it personally betrayed me.
Which it did.
“Subtle,” Corin murmurs.
“Shut up.” But I’m fighting a smile, and from the corner of my eye, I think he might be, too.
I let the coffee cool down a bit before I drink it, because I’m already hot enough as it is, courtesy of my poor wardrobe choice earlier.
I finish the Williams family response memo and touch base on some of the Morrison family follow-up documentation. But my mind keeps circling back to what Corin said about Xavier. About missing evidence. About being terrified they won’t find the forged documents in time.
At five, I stand abruptly.
