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A woman walked in carrying a tray and placed two cups of coffee on the desk before departing. On the saucer next to mine rested two creams and one sugar. Exactly right, of course. I was beginning to expect it.

He was already reaching for the leather portfolio on his desk. The discussion that followed was professional, efficient, and refreshingly straightforward. We reviewed the laboratory transition plan, staffing requirements, reporting structures, and the logistical challenges that accompanied a project the size of Project Aurora. Questions that had occupied my thoughts were addressed one by one, leaving me with far fewer uncertainties than I’d had that morning. What struck me most was not the conversation itself but the absence of resistance.

There were no endless committee reviews, no bureaucratic delays, and no carefully worded explanations about budget limitations or competing priorities. If something needed to be done, Alexander wanted to know how quickly it could be accomplished and what resources were required to make it happen.

“Your suite should be ready now. Let me walk you there,” he said as the meeting concluded.

I gathered my things and followed him from the office. As we got on the elevator, Alexander explained that my badge would open my apartment door as well as all other areas of Blackwood Hall to which I had access.

“I’ll make sure I’m careful with it. That’s a lot of access to carry around.”

He laughed softly. “Don’t worry. If you lose it, Security can revoke access almost immediately.”

Knowing that eased my anxiety. I was not one to lose things, but that was a lot of responsibility on one tiny badge. We made our way through the conservatory, through the main building, and finally into Residential Tower A. Alexander had me use my badge to call the elevator, then again before selecting the fifteenth floor. We stopped in front of an apartment near the end of the corridor.

“This is it,” Alexander said.

I held my badge to the reader. The light turned green and I heard the lock release. “Thank you. For today, I mean. All of it.”

“It was my pleasure. If you need anything this evening, the residential staff can help. And I’m only a few floors above you.”

“You live here too?”

“Yes, in the penthouse.”

My attention shifted to the elevator before I could stop it. A few floors suddenly didn’t seem like very many.

* * *

I closed the apartment door behind me and stood there for a moment, letting the quiet embrace me. Setting my bag on the kitchen counter, I looked around. There was hardly anything left that needed my attention.

The movers had done far more than just pack my boxes and carry them here. Somewhere along the way, they had paid attention to how I lived. Things hadn’t been simply unpacked. They had been put precisely where I would put them myself.

I’d never had movers unpack anything before. If this was normal, I’d apparently been hiring the wrong companies.

Within twenty minutes, the last of my books were organized on the shelves, the framed photograph of Sofia sat on my desk, and the final box was flattened beside the front door. I stood in the middle of the room and realized there was nothing left to do.

The apartment was beautiful. My Nespresso machine sat in one corner, my electric kettle next to it.

The entire back wall was floor-to-ceiling windows. Near the windows was my teal reading chair, my knit throw draped across it. Beside it was a small end table, perfectly positioned for an evening cup of tea. It was easy to imagine spending evenings there, watching the sun set across the Manhattan skyline.

A narrow electric fireplace warmed the living area. The bedroom was larger than the one I had left behind, with enough space for my desk in one corner. The bathroom was just beyond it.

The shower was exactly what I needed. Instead of the polite trickle of institutional plumbing I expected, the water turned hot almost immediately. I adjusted it to a comfortable temperature. Before stepping in, I hung a small bundle of dried lavender I’d tucked into one of my moving boxes beneath the showerhead. The scent slowly filled the room as the steam rose around it.

I stayed there a little longer than I should have, letting the heat wash away the day. Afterward, I wrapped myself in a towel and changed into my softest pajamas. By the time I walked barefoot across the wood floors toward the kitchen, the smell of lavender still lingered behind me. Chamomile tea and a little honey came next. The ritual of it was steadying. Whatever else had changed today, this had not.

Tea in hand, I crossed to the reading chair and curled my feet beneath me. Only then did I let myself reflect on the day. The conservatory came first. For a little while, I had forgotten about Project Aurora entirely. I’d simply wandered along the quiet paths, smelling the orchids without thinking about funding, deadlines, or research at all.

Then came the opera committee. The invitation still pleased me more than I expected. It had been a long time since I’d been asked to belong to something that had nothing to do with my work.

And finally, Alexander. I turned the mug slowly in my hands and let myself think about him. The strange thing wasn’t that the conversation had been interesting. It was how easy it had been. We had simply talked, and I had forgotten, for whole minutes at a time, to be anything other than myself.

Then the smaller things drifted up. He had reserved the entire afternoon. Not delegated it. Reserved it. The rest of the day was always mine.

Tomorrow the labs would open and Priya would arrive with her spreadsheets, Mateo with his experimental plans, and Project Aurora would begin its first real day inside these walls. There was work to do, and I was looking forward to it.

But tonight, there was only the chair, the tea, and the quiet beyond the window. I finished the last warm mouthful, set the mug on the table, and sat a while longer.