The hallway behind you is dark. Through the crack in his office door, the amber glow of his desk lamp spills onto the floor. The faint rustle of papers. Nothing else.

You push the door open slowly. He doesn't look up.

She shifts the plate in her hands, eyes tracing the tired line of his shoulders.

I made dinner. Hours ago, actually.

A small pause. Her voice stays soft, but there's something underneath it.

You didn't come down.