By three o'clock that afternoon, the lingering tension from her mother’s phone call had settled into a quiet, focused energy. The dining room table had been cleared of morning passion and transformed back into an operational war room.
Maya sat beside Mario, fully dressed in her tailored cream trousers and a sleek sleeveless black turtleneck that highlighted her caramel-gold skin. Her dark brown eyes were calm, cleared of their earlier panic, and sharp with determination as she finalized the soil-density attachments to the city permit package. Beside her, Mario worked in tandem, his broad frame relaxed, his six-foot-two height relaxed against the leather chair as he typed out the final artistic compliance narrative for the Emory board.
"The city council filing is locked," Maya said, tappi
