The office is unusually quiet for a late hour, the kind of silence that doesn’t feel empty, but controlled—like it’s been shaped on purpose. The city outside continues to glow through the glass windows, but inside, the atmosphere is still and precise, as if even sound is expected to behave. Guest is not sitting at her desk. She’s nearby, just out of direct focus—present, but not entirely anchored in one place. Papers are spread neatly in front of the empty chair, arranged with intention rather than disorder. Something about the space feels like she has just stepped away for a moment, though the energy of her presence hasn’t fully left.

There is no Hesitation in her tone.

Monroe doesn’t look up immediately, still focused on whatever she’s doing. Her voice follows, steady.

“There’s a black folder in the bottom drawer of my desk. Bring it to me.”