Page 111 of Wild Card 13

And tonight, with the entire organization threatening to crack open because someone we trusted had decided our private lives were worth more as headlines, I wasn't thinking about leaving.

I was thinking about protecting it.

I had been preparing for another disaster. Instead, Alois had dismantled the entire narrative in under five minutes. Not because he'd outperformed the reporters. Because he'd refused to play their game at all.

Then he'd proposed.

I rubbed both hands over my face.

No communications textbook in existence covered spontaneous marriage proposals during active organizational crises.

The elevator doors opened again.

The administrative floor felt almost unnaturally quiet after everything downstairs. Soft carpeting replaced concrete. Muted artwork lined the walls. The smell shifted from coffee and sweat and hockey equipment to polished wood and expensive candles Lo insisted made the offices "feel less corporate and more human."

Sarah Yu stood outside the conference room with a tablet tucked against one hip, already looking ready for tomorrow instead of wrecked by yesterday. Her dark hair remained perfectly in place despite the longest night either of us had worked in weeks. She looked up as I approached. "You survived."

"Barely."

One corner of her mouth lifted. "I've seen worse."

"I don't think either of us has."

She fell into step beside me. "Fair."

For a few seconds, neither of us spoke. We'd worked together long enough hours over the last few months that silence wasn't uncomfortable anymore.

Months ago, I barely knew Sarah beyond her title and the intimidating efficiency that followed her through every hallway in the building.

Now I knew she preferred green tea after lunch because coffee made her hands shake. I knew she alphabetized everything except her desktop because she claimed visual chaos helped her think. I knew she kept emergency protein bars in the second drawer of her desk because she forgot to eat whenever trade deadlines approached.

Funny. The things you learned when people became part of your everyday life.

Sarah glanced sideways. "What?"

I hadn't realized I'd smiled. "Nothing."

"Liar."

I huffed a quiet laugh. "I was just thinking."

"Dangerous."

"So I've been told."

She reached for the conference room door but paused before opening it. "They're both okay."

The words came quietly. Not as my coworker. As someone who understood why I'd spent the last hour worrying about people more than press releases.

I nodded. "I know."

"Convincing." She studied me for another second. "You still feel responsible."

Because I had trusted Char. Because somewhere along the way I'd convinced myself I could read people well enough to know who belonged inside these walls. Apparently, I had blind spots.

"I keep replaying it," I confessed. "Trying to figure out when I missed it."

Sarah rested one hand lightly against the conference room handle. "You didn't."