A little after seven that evening, I left the office. It was already dark. The lights in the plaza downstairs had just come on.
I stood on the steps, scrolling through my phone, and saw a message Zayven had sent half an hour earlier.
Zayven: I'm waiting for you downstairs.
I didn't reply. I headed straight for the subway station.
When I reached the corner, he stood up from outside a nearby convenience store. He was holding a bag of food and looked as though he'd been waiting for a while. He had changed clothes, replacing the shirt he'd worn during the day with a sweatshirt. He had probably gone home first.
"Lena."
I stopped but didn't move toward him.
He walked over and held the bag out to me. "You didn't eat lunch, did you? I bought you some . . ."
"Zayven." I looked at him. "Why
