The Riddle at Court

Elena checked her watch again. 2:47 AM. The office was silent except for the hum of servers and the occasional footstep of the night security guard—a sphinx of a man named Marcus who seemed to materialize in hallways without making a sound, his expression unreadable beneath that cap pulled low.

She'd been working on the Harkness merger for six weeks. Her dog, Barnaby, had stopped greeting her at the door. He'd simply stare at her with those accusatory brown eyes, then pad back to his bed, as if deciding she wasn't worth the effort anymore.

"You're still here."

She jumped. David stood in her doorway, holding two takeaway coffees. He looked almost as wrecked as she felt. His tie was undone, shirtsleeves rolled up, that familiar crease of exhaustion between his eyebrows that she'd spent months pretending not to notice.

"Somebody has to be," she said, accepting the coffee he offered. Their fingers brushed. That was happening more often lately—those accidental touches that neither of them seemed in a hurry to avoid.

"The partners are playing padel tomorrow," he said, leaning against her doorframe. "Thompson invited us."

Elena laughed, a dry sound. "Of course he did. Nothing says 'we appreciate your soul-crushing overtime' like forced athletic camaraderie."

"It's not mandatory."

"Everything here is mandatory, David. Even the optional things."

He looked at her for a long moment. The silence between them had changed texture over the past month—thick with things they weren't saying. That drunken kiss at the Christmas party. The way he'd started finding excuses to walk by her desk. The emails that started professional and ended personal.

"I could say I'm sick," he said. "We could... not go."

"To the padel thing?"

"To any of it."

Her phone buzzed—her neighbor, texting that her cat had been yowling for hours again. She'd forgotten to ask Mrs. Chen to check on him. Another thing she was failing at.

"You know what my mother told me when I got this job?" Elena said suddenly. "She said, 'Don't be the person who has everything and feels nothing.' I have the corner office in view. I have the merger that'll make partner. And I haven't felt anything in months except tired."

David set his coffee on her desk. "What do you feel right now?"

"Hungry." She met his eyes. "And something else I'm probably too exhausted to name."

"Marcus leaves at three," David said quietly. "The back door doesn't trigger the alarm."

Elena looked at the merger documents on her screen—years of work, the prize she'd sacrificed everything for. Then she looked at David, at the way his pulse showed in his throat, at the hope and fear warring in his expression.

Some riddles you solve. Some you walk away from.

"I need to feed my cat," she said, standing up and reaching for her coat. "And I think I need breakfast."

The sphinx in the hallway watched them leave together, and for once, Marcus didn't materialize to stop them.