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Spencer would’ve kept everyone here because he liked an audience.

Bane sends people home the minute they stop adding value, and somehow that makes everyone work harder for him instead of less.

I reopen the presentation, barely noticing the office emptying around me as the last goodnights disappear toward the elevators.

The last emails disappear into outboxes, a couple of farewell waves cross the room, and before long Lena pushes away from her desk with an exaggerated groan.

She taps the untouched coffee beside my keyboard. “Drink that while it’s still pretending to be hot, eat if anyone hands you food, and remember this building doesn’t hand out medals for staying until midnight.”

“Yes, Mom.”

She narrows her eyes. “I’ll add ‘ungrateful’ to your performance review.”

“I thought you liked me.”

“I do.” She grins as she heads for the elevators. “That’s why I’m reminding you to act like a functioning adult.”

The elevator doors slide open. “Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow.”

I watch the doors close behind her before turning back to the presentation, and by the time I reach for my keyboard again, the office belongs to Bane and me.

He gestures toward the conference rooms. “Come on. Let’s work in there. It’s more spacious.”

I drop my laptop onto the conference room table and claim the chair closest to the windows while Bane opens his computer across from me, Midtown stretching beyond the glass in a sea of office lights and traffic weaving through rain-dark streets.

We dive straight into the presentation.

Time disappears beneath revisions, comments, and rewritten slides as we bounce ideas back and forth without either of us digging in our heels.

I move two sections around, expecting resistance, but Bane studies the new order before giving a small nod and asking me to walk him through my thinking.

When he pokes holes in one of my ideas, he explains exactly where he thinks it’ll lose the client instead of shutting it down, and when I solve the problem a different way, he changes course without making me earn the concession.

I hadn’t realized how exhausting it was to defend every opinion until I didn’t have to. Four years with Spencer trained me to expect every disagreement to turn into a contest where one of us had to win.

Working with Bane feels… normal, which still surprises me. Years ago he’d spent every day shadowing Spencer, speaking when he had to and disappearing into the background the rest of the time.

I never imagined we’d end up on the same side of the conference table.

We finally reach the last slide, save the presentation, and sit back at almost the same time.

Bane slides the protein bar toward me again until I surrender with a laugh, and by the time I’ve eaten half of it, rain is drumming harder against the windows.

I lift my coffee and watch headlights smear across the rain-slick streets below. Bane joins me a few feet away, close enough that I’m aware of him without having to turn.

“I grew up in Connecticut,” I say before I can talk myself out of it. “So I love the rain.”

When I glance over, he’s watching me with the same patient expression I’ve come to expect from him.

Years ago he’d have been standing a respectful distance behind Spencer, pretending conversations like this didn’t exist because that was part of the job. Tonight there’s nobody else in the room, and he simply waits.

I hear myself keep talking before I’ve decided to.

“My parents still live there. My sister escaped first.” I smile around another bite of the protein bar. “And since Kira has always been the coolest person I know, I followed her.”

“Did it live up to the sales brochure?”