Senna pushed the door open, stepping into Calder's office.
He was sitting behind his desk, but he rose the moment he saw her. Not out of politeness—more like instinct, the way someone stands when they sense something important entering the room.
"Ms. Reeves," he said quietly. "Please."
She closed the door behind her. The room felt different from earlier. The light had shifted; the afternoon sun painted a thin gold line across the floor. The city outside looked colder, sharper.
Senna walked toward the seat facing him, but she didn't sit yet. She watched him, her expression calm, but her senses alert. Calder looked composed as always, but there was something in the set of his jaw that told her he had been waiting—not simply for information, but for her.
"How did the session go?" he asked.
She placed her notebook on the desk. "Productively. Not peacefully, but productively."
His eyes stayed on her. "Explain."
She sat, finally, and he did the same. The distance between them felt smaller than the length of the desk suggested.
"Your departments are not fighting about data," Senna said simply. "They're fighting about being heard."
Calder's eyes narrowed, not with anger, but with concentration. "I see."
"No," she whispered, "you don't. Not everything."
Her voice stayed soft, but her words cut through the room like warm steel.
He didn't move. "Then tell me."
She opened her notebook but didn't look at it. "Layla feels your leadership favors Public Affairs. Mark believes BioTech is careless. Both sides feel threatened and think the other department can ruin them."
Calder leaned back slightly. "People take things personally when they're underperforming."
"Or," Senna said, meeting his gaze directly, "when they think their leader will not stand between them and a fall."
The room went still.
Calder's expression didn't shift, but something inside him tightened, a small pull in the muscles of his face.
"You think they're afraid of me," he said.
"I don't think," she replied. "I observed."
He looked away for a moment, only a heartbeat, before returning his gaze to hers. "And what gave you that impression?"
"The way they talked around your name," Senna said gently. "The way their voices dropped. How they said 'executive leadership' instead of 'you.' How they paused every time they mentioned your expectations."
His jaw clenched once, then relaxed again. "I expect high standards."
"High standards are fine," she said. "Fear is not."
He inhaled slowly through his nose. "Fear can be productive."
Senna shook her head. "Not this kind of fear."
Her voice stayed soft and even, steady as a pulse.
"The kind of fear you inspire doesn't push them to work better. It pushes them to hide their mistakes. And hidden mistakes grow."
Calder didn't respond right away. He rested his fingertips on the desk, silent, thinking. She watched the way he controlled his breathing—not out of rage, but out of discipline.
Finally, he said, "You're direct."
"You hired me to fix the problem," she replied. "I can't do that if I tiptoe."
"You were close to crossing a line," he said quietly.
"Then you should fire me now," she said just as quietly. "Because I can't help you if I'm afraid to speak."
Her courage didn't challenge him. It held him.
For a long moment, they stared at each other—
two different kinds of quiet, meeting in the same space.
Then Calder leaned forward slightly.
"I'm not going to fire you," he said.
"Then let me say what I need to say," Senna replied.
"Go on," he murmured.
"You are not the cause of this problem," she said gently. "But you are the force that will determine how it ends."
Something in his chest loosened—not visibly, but inside.
She continued, "You set the temperature of this place. And right now, it's cold. Too cold. People work under pressure, but they're not working with trust."
He exhaled, long and low.
She waited, letting him sit with the truth.
He didn't speak. Not yet.
Instead, he studied her the way someone studies something rare—quietly, intensely, without blinking.
"What do you suggest I do?" he finally asked.
"I'll handle the communication," Senna said. "I'll break down the walls between the departments. But I need you to make one thing clear to them."
"What is that?"
"That honesty won't be punished."
He went still again.
This time, not with tension—
but with something like… recognition.
"I can do that," he said softly.
"Good." Her voice warmed. "Then we're already halfway to solving the problem."
A faint, unreadable expression crossed his face. Not quite relief. Not quite admiration. Something in between.
She began gathering her notes.
But Calder wasn't finished.
"There's something else," he said.
Senna looked up. "Yes?"
"You said earlier that the tone of a place drips from the top," he said. "If that's true… what tone do you think I've set?"
The question was not defensive.
It was honest.
Senna hesitated—not out of fear, but out of care for the weight of what she was about to say.
"Control," she said. "Precision. Distance."
His eyes lifted slightly. "Distance?"
"Yes." Her voice almost softened into sympathy. "You're a leader who doesn't get close. So no one else gets close to each other. They mimic you. Even the ones who don't want to."
He swallowed once, barely noticeable. "And what does that mean for you? As the mediator?"
"That I'll have to work harder," she said. "Because I'm trying to warm a place where the person at the top has built walls made of glass."
She didn't say it to wound him.
She said it because it was the truth—and because she sensed that no one had talked to him like this in years.
Calder's fingers curled against the desk. Slow. Controlled.
His breath deepened just slightly.
"You don't hold back," he murmured.
"Neither do you," she said softly. "You just do it in silence."
Their eyes met again.
For a moment, the room felt too small.
Then Calder broke the stare, looking down at the pen on his desk.
"Will you stay after the next sessions," he asked, "so we can review the progress together?"
"Yes," she said. "If you need that."
He lifted his eyes. "I do."
The simple honesty in his voice surprised her.
It surprised him too.
Senna rose slowly. "I'll see you tomorrow, then."
She turned to leave—
"Ms. Reeves."
She paused at the door. "Yes?"
Calder stood now, one hand resting lightly on the desk.
His voice was quiet, but firm.
"You said I inspire the wrong kind of fear."
"Yes," she replied.
"Do I inspire fear in you?"
Her heart gave one sharp beat.
Not fear—
but something she didn't want to name yet.
"No," she said gently. "You don't frighten me, Mr. Voss."
He held her gaze.
She held his.
Something shifted in the air—
soft
electric
dangerous in a way that had nothing to do with conflict or business.
Senna opened the door.
"Good," Calder said behind her.
Too quietly for anyone else to hear.
"Because I don't want you to be afraid of me."
She stepped out, closing the door carefully.
Calder stood where she left him, staring at the empty space she had occupied.
His pulse was faster than usual.
She didn't fear him.
And for a man who built an entire world out of walls—
that was the most dangerous truth of all.
Neither of them realizes that someone in the building is already watching their interactions too closely… and preparing to use it.