The office looked almost like itself again.
Almost.
The desk was cleared and reorganized, the folder back in order, Diana's chair returned to its exact position. The sofa cushion Ryan had displaced was straightened. The reading glasses were back on the desk where they belonged, which felt like a detail that mattered for reasons neither of them addressed.
Ryan gathered the last of his papers and slid them into the folder with methodical attention of someone finding usefulness in small tasks.
Diana had her back to him at the window, looking out at the city — the full dark of 1AM Manhattan, the grid lit and moving below like it always was, indifferent to everything that had happened in this room tonight.
She turned around.
She looked like herself again. Suit jacket back on, hair reset to something close to its morning arrangement. The composure that was just part of her face had returned from wherever it had gone.
"You're prepared for the second meeting," she said.
