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Neither of us sounded enthusiastic.

We cleaned up quickly.

Damien found the pens while I fixed the charger and put the wristbands back into their box. I used the small staff washroom next door, then returned and pulled my underwear and jeans back into place. My thermal went on next, followed by my boots and jacket.

Damien had already redressed by the time I clipped my radio onto my jacket again.

I retrieved Saturday’s route sheet from the chair.

It was still clean, which counted as a professional victory.

Before I unlocked the door, Damien touched my face.

The kiss he gave me this time was slow, without the frantic edge that could have restarted everything we absolutely did not have time to restart.

When he drew back, I stayed close.

“We finish together,” he said.

I understood both meanings.

“Yes.”

We stepped back into the cold.

The affected section had cleared exactly as ordered.

I confirmed it over the radio before we entered the staff side for the last walkthrough.

The farm sounded different after closing. Public music had dropped away. Most guest noise came from the distant parking area, leaving boots on packed dirt, radio calls, and the creak of set walls when the wind pushed across them.

Emergency markers glowed along the staff route.

Damien walked half a step behind me as we reached the enclosed transition.

The wheeled divider stood locked along the wall where it belonged.

I checked the brake.

“Still set.”

Damien glanced through the direct passage.

“Rear emergency lane after this?”

“Yes. We check the transition, go through the next section, then loop outside.”

I stepped past the divider.

The show lights went out, but not everything went dark.

The green emergency marker remained lit near the floor.

A low egress light glowed beyond the passage.

But the amber overhead wash disappeared so abruptly that my eyes needed a second to adjust.

Behind me, metal wheels shrieked.