The hallway outside Michael's office had already begun to empty when he stepped out, jacket folded over his arm, phone in hand, mind half on the next day and half on nothing at all. It was that quiet hour where work didn't feel like work anymore, just movement out of routine. A few staff members passed him with quick nods, elevators opening and closing with soft chimes, the building settling into its night rhythm.
He was almost at the lift when something tugged at the back of his mind.
Not loud. Not urgent.
Just… unfinished.
He slowed, fingers tightening slightly around his phone. The idea didn't come fully formed at once. It rarely did with him. It came in pieces, fragments connecting faster than most people could track. Nigeria. Silence. Dayo leaving. Public perception. Timing.
He stopped completely.
Then turned.
By the time he was walking back toward his office, the idea had already shaped itself into something usable.
