Cindy notices the jacket as her boss exits the elevator.
Selah slipped it on that morning without thinking, the weight settling easily on her shoulders. Now, walking through the lobby, she realizes it feels familiar in a way that surprises her.
Cindy looks up from her tablet as Selah passes.
"That's a new jacket," Cindy says, smiling.
Selah pauses. "Borrowed," she replies, with a slight smile, already moving toward her office.
"Does he know?" Cindy's tone dances on the fine line between curiosity and something quieter. Something closer to calculation.
Selah pauses again, turning her head slightly. "Not my concern."
The finality in her tone is unmistakable.
"Copy that."
Cindy watches her go, her expression lingering for a second before she looks back down at her tablet.
A moment later, Selah checks her phone while settling at her desk. A smile appears. One that lingers.
Cindy notices. Doesn't comment. Just…notes it.
The day unfolds in pieces. Emails. Meetings. A hallway conversation that stops when Selah approaches. Another where someone avoids eye contact.
The workweek settles into its familiar rhythm.
Her name surfaces at inconvenient moments—in the middle of his own sentences, during meetings where he's supposed to be listening, in conversations that circle without landing.
Jude stays in motion for most of it. Phone calls. Notes. Whiteboards filled with arrows and circles that only make sense while you're looking at them.
During a break, he steps outside for a quick walk around the block. The air is cool, the sky undecided.
As he nears the college campus a little more than a block away, he notices the marquee. He snaps a picture and adds a message:
THIS JUST IN:
Local college to perform War and Peace this fall.
He stares at the screen for a second, amused by himself, then sends it.
Selah sees it. She doesn't respond right away. Not because she isn't thinking of him, but because she's enjoying the fact that she is.
Jude is on a call that feels important but not settled.
He's mid-conversation, listening more than talking, nodding to himself as the voice on the other end runs hot. Ideas tumbling over each other, urgency wrapped in excitement.
"I'm telling you, this place is primed," Matt says. "Mostly white-collar, yeah, but the conditions are there. People are talking. Actually, people are really considering this thing."
Jude hums, noncommittal. Then his phone lights up.
Selah.
He pauses just long enough for the other voice to notice.
"You still there?" Matt asks.
"Yeah," Jude says easily. "Go on."
Matt continues. "We've got momentum. We just need to keep fanning these flames."
"Have we spoken to any of their admin yet?" Jude asks, calm.
"No," Matt admits. "We emailed. No response."
Jude's brow tightens slightly. "Has anyone tried calling?"
A pause. "No. Not yet."
"Okay," Jude says evenly. "Someone needs to make that happen."
He ends the call a moment later, quieter than it began. Only then does he look back at his phone.
Jude is waiting for another call to start when a news headline slides across his screen:
Third-Grade Literacy Rates on the Rise Nationwide
He reads the headline twice, then a corner of his mouth lifts.
He sends the screenshot with a quick caption:
Maybe the loud guy wasn't lying after all.
Selah sees it between emails. She reads the headline, then his message.
And this time, she doesn't just smile.
She laughs out loud. The kind that makes her shake her head and glance around her office like she needs to explain herself to no one.
She types back:
I hate that this made my day.
Jude sees the reply later and sits with the fact that somewhere, Selah is smiling to herself.
Later, Selah steps through the glass door on her way to the elevator.
Cindy is on the phone with a direct, clipped tone. She uses Selah's name twice in a way that makes Selah slow her steps.
"…that wasn't the directive Ms. Fierce gave," Cindy says. "And no, Ms. Fierce wasn't informed of that change."
Cindy glances up, catches Selah's eye, arches a brow. Not a smile.
"…understood," Cindy says into the phone, her tone tightening slightly. "I'll note that."
She ends the call a moment earlier than she might have otherwise.
"Selah—"
Selah pauses near the elevator, turning just enough.
Cindy lifts the phone slightly. "That was about the directive change."
Selah studies her for a moment. "Tell me when I get back."
"Okay."
Cindy lowers the phone. Her fingers tap once against the screen before stilling.
Selah steps into the elevator. The doors close.
Cindy stands there for a moment, then exhales deeply.
Back at her desk, Selah opens an email.
Subject: Staff Visibility and Engagement
Selah,
There have been recent indications of communication gaps across multiple departments.
Leadership would like to increase visibility at the management level. Please make yourself available as needed for department meetings and staff-facing engagements over the coming weeks.
We will need to align on messaging and timing.
Let me know your availability for a brief call.
Andrew Whitberg
Executive Director, Systems and Operations
She reads it once. Then again.
"Indications."
"Visibility."
"Align on messaging."
All of it precise. Controlled. Vague enough to mean everything.
She leans back in her chair, the jacket shifting slightly against her shoulders, and exhales.
The rain comes back midweek. Nothing dramatic. Just one of those gray afternoons where the sky can't quite make up its mind.
Jude steps outside his building and checks his weather app.
40% chance of rain later this afternoon.
He sends a photo of the screen. Then, a second later, another of an umbrella leaning against the wall.
Storm watch.
Selah reads it on her lunch break. She glances at the jacket again, the smirk arriving uninvited.
Thursday arrives with the same rhythm. Another article. Another text.
A link this time:
Key Fob Opens Wrong Vehicle, Leaves Driver Confused
The message underneath reads:
At least THIS didn't happen.
Selah laughs out loud, then shakes her head, smiling to herself.
Of course you'd notice this.
And just like that, the week feels lighter than it has any right to be.
She doesn't hesitate with what she texts next:
Friday. Coffee?
Jude smiles at the screen.
6 works for me.
Selah glances at the jacket, still draped over the back of her chair.
Perfect.