I pressed my lips together firmly, nodded once, and followed him out into the corridor, keeping a full step of space between us as we walked toward the visitor lounge at the far end of the floor.

At a quarter to seven the lounge was quiet, lit only by two recessed ceiling lights and the faint blue glow of the vending machines against the tiled wall.

Daniel took two paper cups from the wall dispenser, pressed the lever for hot water, dropped a black tea bag into one, and handed it across the counter to me.

“I know things have felt strained between us the last few days,” he said, leaning his hip comfortably against the edge of the laminate counter.

“I took a walk around the block outside my office this afternoon and realized how out of hand this whole thing has gotten.”