"You look like you've either saved the world or ended it," Nathan said, when she walked into the office at four p.m. "Possibly both."
"The meeting?" she asked.
"Handled. They loved the rebrand concept. We got the contract." He looked at her more carefully. "Elara. What happened?"
She set her bag down. She sat on the edge of his desk — they'd always been like that, easy in each other's space, the particular comfort of two people who had built something together in hard conditions.
"Long version or short?" she asked.
"Whichever one means you don't leave anything out."
She told him. Not everything — not the part about Callum's parting *not yet,* which she was filing away in the room of things she refused to examine — but enough. The drive. The audio file. Victoria at the airport.
Nathan listened in the way he always listened — completely, without interrupting, his dark eyes tracking everything.
"You went to the airport with him," he said, when she finished.
"Yes."
"In his car."
"Nathan."
"I'm not asking as—" He stopped. Rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm asking as your friend. Who knows you. Who has watched you rebuild yourself from nothing for two years and knows exactly how much it cost." He looked at her steadily. "I'm asking because I need to know if you're okay."
She looked at her hands in her lap. "I don't know yet," she said honestly.
He nodded. He reached over and covered her hand with his once, briefly, and then let go.
"The contract can wait until tomorrow," he said. "Go home. Sleep."
She stood. She gathered her bag. She stopped at the door.
"Nathan," she said.
"Mm."
"He asked if there was something between us."
Nathan looked up. His expression didn't move much — he was good at that. But something shifted behind his eyes.
"What did you say?" he asked.
"That he hadn't earned the right to ask."
Nathan was quiet for a moment. "But you didn't say no."
She met his eyes.
She didn't answer.
She left.
She was in her car in the car park when her phone rang. Not Callum. Not Mara.
Dr. Harmon.
She answered.
"Ms. Voss. I apologize for calling at this hour. I wanted to reach you before you heard from anyone else." A pause. "Mr. Reid came to see me this afternoon. After some time reviewing his previous consultation notes and some new material he brought with him—" Another pause. "He wants to begin an intensive memory recovery program. Emotional trigger immersion — structured, medically supervised. It carries a meaningful chance of recovering significant portions of the lost period."
She sat very still.
"He asked me to contact you," Dr. Harmon said. "Because the protocol requires participation from someone who was present throughout the lost memories. Someone who knew him well." A careful pause. "He said — and I'm quoting directly — 'She'll say no. Ask her anyway.'"
Elara closed her eyes.
"What does participation involve?" she asked.
"Sessions. Together. Here in the clinic. Structured conversations, sensory environments, significant emotional exposure." He paused. "It will be difficult for both of you."
She opened her eyes.
"
When does he want to start?" she asked.