Mike watched her, his gaze heavy and unblinking. He didn't try to crowd her or offer a congratulatory smile; he knew better than to interrupt a moment of intellectual birth. He simply provided the stillness she needed to anchor herself.
"Design doesn't end when the building is finished," she repeated, the words coming more slowly this time, as if she were tasting the texture of the truth, ensuring it wouldn't crumble under the weight of her own breath. "It keeps happening... in use."
The realization seemed to vibrate in the air between them, a low-frequency hum of pure, unadulterated epiphany.
With a sudden, frantic energy, Ellie reached into her bag, her hands moving with a desperate, uncharacteristic haste. She bypassed her heavy textbooks and her structured binders, fishing instead for a smaller, weathered notebook with a deep red cover.
