By the time the last light disappeared from the glass walls of the executive floor, the building had become almost unrecognizable. During the day, it was all ringing phones, polished shoes, guarded expressions, and people moving quickly enough to pretend they were not afraid of being left behind. At night, it felt like a secret. The long corridors were empty, the conference rooms dark, and the city below glittered through the windows as if it had no idea what kind of war was unfolding above it.
Caro stood near the reception desk with her handbag hanging from one shoulder, staring at the elevator numbers as they descended. She had told herself she would leave ten minutes ago. Then twenty. Then thirty. Yet every time she reached for her phone to call a car, she looked toward Peter's office instead. Light still spilled from beneath his door, a thin golden line against the dark floor.
She should have gone home.
