He sat. Close enough that I could see the subtle variations in his marking patterns, could smell something that wasn't quitecologne but reminded me of ozone and metal and something cleaner. Close enough that my pulse kicked up noticeably.
This was fine. This was normal. Colleagues ate lunch together all the time.
"Jalina was just telling us how professional she is," Dana said with absolutely zero subtlety.
"She's very professional," Zor'go agreed. "Her courtyard designs demonstrate exceptional understanding of spatial psychology."
"See? Professional," I said.
"She also convinced me to draw with charcoal this morning," Zor'go continued, and something in his voice caught, not quite amusement but close. "Highly unprofessional tool. Completely imprecise. Results were interesting."
"You drew something?" Er'dox looked genuinely shocked. "With your hands? On paper?"
"Jalina insisted."
"Jalina corrupts," Dana said. "It's her superpower."
"I don't corrupt. I expand perspectives." I focused on my food, tried not to notice how close Zor'go's arm was to mine, and how his markings flickered every time I spoke. "There's a difference."
"The difference being?"
"Corruption implies moral degradation. Perspective expansion implies growth."
"Careful," Er'dox said to Zor'go. "She'll have you writing poetry next."
"Poetry has mathematical structure. I could appreciate poetry."
"You could appreciate anything with mathematical structure," I said. "You probably love sonnets."
"Sonnets are fourteen lines with specific rhyme schemes. They're essentially algorithms for emotional expression."
"That's the least romantic description of poetry I've ever heard."
"Romance isn't incompatible with structure."
The wordromancehung in the air between us, suddenly loaded with meaning neither of us had intended. I felt my face heat again, saw his markings flicker rapidly, watched him look away like he'd said something inappropriate.
"Anyway," I said too loudly, "the expansion project is progressing. We're ahead of schedule on the neighborhood clusters."
"Because you work sixteen-hour days," Bea said. "Both of you."
"Eighteen-hour days," Zor'go corrected. "But the work requires intensity."
"The work requires balance. You're both going to burn out."
"We're fine."
"You fell asleep at your desk twice this week."
I glared at Bea. "Who told you that?"
"Dana mentioned it. Who heard it from Er'dox. Who heard it from someone on the Operations team." Bea's expression was pure doctor-concern. "You need actual rest. Both of you."
"Rest when the project is complete," Zor'go said.
"Rest before you collapse mid-project and set everything back by weeks." Bea pulled up her datapad, made some notes. "I'm scheduling both of you for mandatory sleep cycles. Eight hours minimum. Non-negotiable."
"You can't mandate sleep cycles for Operations staff."
