Back in the trenches, Greg popped from correspondence to system maintenance to weaponry maintenance when he heard her sigh. It was as if his auditory nerves had been programmed to listen for that sound. His ears perked, his skimming of the inventory list paused, his chin lifted. He watched as Sush dumped the clipboard next to the keyboard as she slumped into her swivel chair, brows furrowed and mouth downturned in a frown as she scrolled through her phone.

Setting the list in his hand onto his chair, he strode across the space, toward the elevator, jabbed the number six, tapped his foot impatiently against the ground as he waited...