Safe Harbor

The editing bay hummed with the sound of computer fans and the faint glow of multiple screens. Empty coffee cups littered desks like evidence of sleepless nights. Delaney's office door loomed closed at the far end of the room—dark, but somehow still watching.

Rowan stepped in with his usual coffee and easy smile, setting the cup down on an empty desk. The room's tension was palpable—Marshall hunched over his laptop, Sandy picking at her cuticles while staring blankly at footage, Chen scrolling through emails with his jaw clenched, Jules organizing files with mechanical precision, and a few others scattered around workstations.

Marshall froze mid-type. Sandy's eyes flicked toward Delaney's closed office door. Chen looked up, expression guarded.

Jules forced a tight smile.

Rowan tilted his head slightly, observing.

Beat.

Chen's jaw clenched.

Heavy silence. Marshall stared at Delaney's door like it might open any second.

Sandy nodded quickly.

Rowan scanned their faces—the forced smiles, the darting eyes, the invisible pull toward that closed door even when Delaney wasn't there.

Jules was already turning back to her screen.

Sandy glanced at the others, then back at Rowan.

Rowan's smile stayed in place, warm and genuine.

Marshall looked at him for a moment, then shrugged.

The room was quiet for a moment.

Sandy's fingers stopped picking.

Chen nodded.

He left.

The editing bay sat in thoughtful silence.

Marshall went back to his screen. Sandy stopped picking her cuticles entirely. Chen leaned back in his chair, something like relief crossing his face.

They went back to work.

But something had shifted.

A door opened.

Small.

But there.

And Rowan, walking down the hallway with his coffee and his easy smile, pulled out his phone and opened his notes app.

He locked his phone and kept walking.

Just Rowan.

Friendly, helpful, caring Rowan.

Who'd just made himself a safe harbor.

And hoped it would be enough.