Late night at the hub.
Not accidental.
Arthur sat at the planning table, the last report open in front of him. The numbers had been finished twenty minutes ago. He had read the same line three times. Then closed the document.
He didn't leave.
The pavilion was empty. The workers had gone home hours ago. The lanterns burned low, their flames steady, casting long shadows across the stone floor. The only sounds were the wind outside and the soft creak of the old building settling.
Arthur knew why he was still here.
Next time… don't stop.
The words had been with him all day. Through the afternoon reports. Through the evening inventory check. Through the walk back to the pavilion that he had somehow not completed.
He hadn't planned to stay. But when he finished the work, he hadn't stood up. Hadn't gathered his papers. Hadn't walked to the door.
He just sat.
