“It is,” Oliver’s expression softened to reveal genuine emotion. “Though the future’s feeling a bit uncertain lately.”
The weight of this morning’s research settled back over the room like a heavy blanket. I caught Tabitha’s slight frown as she noticed Oliver’s tension, the way he kept checking his phone like he was expecting bad news.
“Nothing we can’t handle,” I said firmly, reaching for a container of chicken pasta salad. “We’ve weathered uncertainty before.”
But even as I said it, my attention split between the crisis thatloomed over my company and the condition of the man sitting beside me.
The conversation settled into easier territory as we ate, with Oliver asking Finn about Navy life and Tabitha making dry observations about the creative floor’s latest drama. Finn navigated the social dynamics with his usual charm, and the knot in my shoulders began to ease.
Until his fork trembled against the side of his plate.
Subtle. A few seconds passed before he set it down and reached for water instead. But I caught the delay before he answered Oliver’s question about carrier landings, the way his eyes didn’t track smoothly when Tabitha gestured toward the windows.
Across the table, Tabitha’s gaze flicked to me with a question I answered with the slightest nod.
“So, the Sherlock integration,” Oliver was saying. “Casey mentioned you were impressed with the tactical applications?”
Finn blinked. Processing. “Yes. The strategic framework is sophisticated. More nuanced than I expected.”
Each word came out carefully measured, like he was concentrating harder than the conversation required. Two fingers pressed against his left brow. Pressure building.
“The military consultation piece was interesting,” Oliver continued, clearly enjoying having someone who appreciated the technical aspects. “Jordan worked with some defense contractors to build the frameworks. Always curious about real-world applications versus theoretical models.”
“Jordan.” The pause stretched a beat too long. “Right. He seems dedicated to the...”
Tabitha stood, moving toward the wall-mounted display. “Oliver, didn’t you mention wanting to show Finn the concept art from the Norisarto project? The environmental design might interest someone with his background.”
Smooth redirection, drawing attention away from Finn, givinghim space to collect himself. I caught his grateful glance, though he probably didn’t understand what she’d done.
But I did. Tabitha had recognized his cognitive overload the same way she did for me during intense meetings or stressful days.
“Actually,” I stood, moving behind Finn’s chair, “we should probably head back soon. I know you wanted to see more of the development side.”
My hand settled on his shoulder. Heat radiated through the muscle; his system was working overtime.
“I’d like that,” Finn pushed back from the table with deliberate movements. When he stood, the favoring of his right side was unmistakable.
Tabitha cleared containers nonchalantly, but her eyes tracked Finn’s movement patterns.
“Finn,” her voice was carefully casual, “I stuck some extra water bottles in the small room across from Alex’s office if you need them later. Huddle 3. It’s the quietest spot on the floor.”
Huddle 3. Our sensory refuge. Tabitha was laying groundwork.
“Thanks,” Finn responded at length, hands gripping the back of a chair.
Oliver stepped forward, extending his hand. “Great meeting you, Finn. Hope we’ll see more of you around here.”
Brief handshake. Finn’s slight wince at the pressure. Light sensitivity, hand tremors, now increased tactile sensitivity.
“Definitely,” Finn replied, then turned toward me. “Ready when you are.”
At the door, his steps faltered. A barely perceptible stumble he covered by reaching for the doorframe. Depth perception glitch. Like the ground had shifted beneath his feet.
Tabitha appeared beside me, voice pitched low. “Twenty minutes. Maybe thirty if he pushes it.”
She was right. Finn was quickly approaching his limit, and I was suddenly worried he’d try to power through rather thanadmit the afternoon was becoming unmanageable, which meant I needed to start making executive decisions.
I came up even with him, wrapping my arm around his waist. He settled his arm across my shoulders, leaning heavily. “Medication? Left pocket?”
