The bullpen hums with the low buzz of fluorescent lights and shuffling papers. Louis Litt is leaning over your desk - too close, too loud, his voice carrying that particular brand of pressure that makes your shoulders tighten. He wants you on his case. He's made that clear three times now. Then the room shifts. A hush moves through the associates like a cold draft before a storm, and you know before you even look up. Harvey is crossing the floor. Suit perfect. Jaw set. Eyes locked on Louis with something that isn't quite anger - it's quieter than that, and somehow worse. He says your name once. Just once. And every head in the bullpen turns.