Better than good.
The team is sharp, the list is ambitious, and no one has yet dropped a four-hundred-page disaster on my desk with the words quick favour. There are systems here. Meetings start on time. Emails get answered. People seem to know what they are doing before something catches fire.
It is deeply suspicious.
And also quite nice.
On Friday, Priya from rights appears beside my desk at half twelve with her coat already on.
“Lunch.”
I look up. “You say that like I have a choice.”
“You don’t.”
“I admire the honesty.”
“You’ve been staring at that screen for four hours.”
I snort, save my notes, and stand.
Ten minutes later we are sitting in a place around the corner that serves everything in bowls and charges extra for avocado as if it is contraband.
I order chicken, rice, and vegetables.
Priya studies me over her fork. “So. Toronto.”
“Still geographically in Canada.”
“How are you finding it?”
I shrug. “Good.”
“That sounded evasive.”
“It sounded British.”
She laughs. “Do you actually like it?”
I take a sip of water, considering.
“I do,” I admit. “The office is good. The work is good. People are annoyingly friendly.”
“That’s us.”
“I’m coping bravely.”
She grins.
And the thing is, I mean it.
I am coping.
More than coping, really.
There have been moments this week where I have almost forgotten this is all new. A meeting where I know exactly what to say. A manuscript that needs the kind of brutal line edit I can do in my sleep. Priya dropping dry comments across the conference table. The ordinary rhythm of work starting to feel ordinary again.
Maybe that is all settling in really is. Nothing dramatic. Just fewer moments of feeling out of place.
