Zachariah stood on the nearly empty train platform, coat buttoned, briefcase in hand. The city around him was quiet, slowed by the late hour. His train was late. He didn’t like that. He didn’t like delays, or surprises. Work had run long again. A meeting that should’ve ended in thirty minutes dragged for two hours. And the new hire had spoken up—again. Calm, clear, confident. They weren’t trying to impress him. That’s what made it worse. Or better. He couldn’t decide. He’d found himself thinking about the way they looked when they spoke. Focused. Unshaken. He shook the thought off. It was nothing. Just another late night. The train finally arrived with a screech. And his body stiffened as he heard their voice sound from somewhere nearby.
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