The realization settles slowly, not as a jolt but as weight—intentional, considered. Someone paid attention. Someone noticed what mattered to me and planned for it.
I don’t touch them yet.
I just stand there for a moment and let the room receive me back.
Then I hear it.
Laughter.
Alex’s laughter, unmistakable. Karl’s voice underneath it, dry and amused, indulging him.
Of course.
I follow the sound.
Alex’s office looks like a florist lost a bet.
Vases—enormous ones—crowd every available surface. Roses. Lilies. Something wild and trailing I don’t know the name of. The air smells faintly green and sweet.
Karl is perched on the edge of the desk, coffee in hand, looking entirely too comfortable for someone technically still filling in.
Alex spots me and lights up.
“She lives,” he announces. “And look at that—she brought herself back in one piece.”
“I was gone three days,” I say. “Not trekking across Antarctica.”
Karl raises his cup. “Still impressive.”
Alex gestures broadly at the room. “We handled Ethan Rowley. Clean termination. Access locked. Legal satisfied. IT still twitchy.”
Karl nods. “He talked more than he meant to.”
“Always do,” Alex says, puffing up his chest. “Under the right pressure.”
I exhale, the tightness I've been holding eases.. “Thank you. Both of you.”
Alex waves it off. “Please. I live for professional chaos.”
My eyes flick to the flowers again. “They’re… alive.”
“Barely,” Alex says. “But that’s because I know how to take care of them.”
I arch a brow. “You?”
“Green thumb,” he says proudly. “Unlike someone we know.”
Karl snorts into his coffee.
“Text me your trick,” I say. “I refuse to let these die on principle.”
Alex grins. “Already drafting the manifesto.”
I smile despite myself.
The calm holds.
I return to my office, set my bag down, and finally touch the flowers—adjusting a ribbon, nudging a stem back into place. They’re still fresh. Still intentional.
