Sabrina moved to the door, gathering her things with a practiced, economical efficiency. Her bag was slim, looking far too light to hold the weight of the life she led, but Mike knew better; it was the bag of someone who had learned to pack only what was essential and carry the rest in her head.
"Hawk," Bruce called out just as she reached the threshold.
"Wait... can I call you that?"
"Yeah, sure."
"You two are in the same building three days a week... If anything comes up that's relevant to the arrangement, she's your point of contact when I'm unreachable."
"It's worth having each other's numbers."
It was delivered with the casual nonchalance Bruce used to mask his most calculated moves. Mike saw it for exactly what it was: a piece of operational logic dressed up as a polite afterthought.
It was a directive that was nearly impossible to decline without appearing socially clumsy or professionally disinterested.
