The elevator doors slid open onto the executive floor just after midnight, and the silence that greeted Caro felt almost unnatural after the chaos of the day. Most of Blackridge Tower had already emptied hours ago, leaving only dim corridor lighting and the distant hum of ventilation systems stretching through the glass-lined halls. She stepped out slowly with her coat folded over one arm and her laptop pressed against her chest, exhaustion pulling heavily at every movement now. The operations crisis had stabilized publicly, but internally the pressure still lingered everywhere, woven into every whispered conversation and every cautious glance exchanged between departments. Worse than any of that, though, was the expression Peter had worn before leaving the operations floor earlier.
That look had followed her all evening.
