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She reads the number out quickly, efficiently, the way people do when they are thinking about six other things atonce. I write it down on a scrap of paper, my handwriting already showing signs of fatigue.

“There you go,” she says. “Anything else?”

“No,” I reply. “That’s all. I appreciate it.”

“Good evening,” she says before the line goes dead.

I sit there for a moment, staring at the number.

This is fine, I tell myself.

This is purely practical.

I open the messaging app.

I type.

Delete.

Type again.

Me

Hi. It’s Chloe. Angela gave me your number just in case. Hope that’s okay.

I stop. Re-read. Add nothing. Remove nothing.

Just letting you know the feature will be running this Sunday.

That’s it. Informational. Neutral. Entirely above board.

I hover over send.

This does not make you desperate, I think. This makes you organised. And tired.

I press send.

The message disappears.

I put the phone face-down on my desk like it might do something dramatic.

AJ looks up from his screen. “You look like you’ve just made a choice.”

“Work,” I say.

He nods solemnly. “Reckless business.”

I shut my laptop, sling my bag over my shoulder, and finally stand up.

Whatever happens next can wait.

I have done enough for one Friday.

Probably.

Hadrian’s vivarium needs cleaning.

He watches me approach with the suspicious stillness of a creature who believes he is flawless and that any interference is deeply offensive. I lift the lid, remove the water dish, and start the methodical business of tidying. Fresh substrate. Clean glass. Everything returned to its rightful place.