Remy
By late afternoon the building had that Thursday hum—phones quieting, printers spitting their last forms, the shop rolling toward second shift’s rhythm. I’d signed two fleet renewals, fixed three problems that didn’t need my title to fix, and stared at the email draft to the Council long enough to know I shouldn’t send anything until morning. Pierce paced in me like he does when the day is mostly human: patient, watchful, ears pricked toward a single scent that lives downstairs.
Ask her, he said, not in words so much as a push toward the stairwell. But don’t chase.
“I know,” I told him, and left the office before I could talk myself into five more responsible tasks. Responsible can be the habit that keeps you lonely.
The lobby door was propped with a rubber wedge and the winter ai
