Becca's POV
The office feels smaller than it used to after everything I've learnt, though nothing about its physical dimensions has changed, just the distance I've been carefully constructing inside it, chair angled a few degrees further from Jason's desk than it used to be, coffee poured for myself instead of accepted from his hands the way I used to let him fuss over me during long nights of ledger work.
"You've been quiet," he says, four days after the garden, four days after Susie Booker's careful hand on his forearm, three days after a coffee shop conversation on Damen that I haven't told him about and don't currently plan to.
"Just tired." It's not entirely a lie. Sleep has been difficult, my mind cycling through every version of Jason I've collected over these past months, the ge
