A Dance in the Dark

The fluorescent hum of the office lights was a stark contrast to the velvet darkness outside. Sadie, hunched over a mountain of briefs, felt the familiar ache in her shoulders. Her usually sharp mind felt dulled by the sheer volume of legalese. It was late, the kind of late where the city outside her window began to shed its skin, revealing a more primal, glittering self. She rubbed her temples, the scent of stale coffee and paper clinging to her.

Then, the soft chime of the intercom. Her heart gave a little leap, a foolish, hopeful flutter she’d been trying to suppress all week. “Yes, Mr. Thorne?”

“Just checking in, Ms. Vance,” Hans’s voice, a low rumble that always seemed to vibrate in her chest, drifted through the speaker. “Still burning the midnight oil?”