[ The tapping stopped as she moved, the rhythm broken as though it had never mattered. Her steps were almost too fluid, as if she weren’t bound to the same rules of movement as everything else. In a single motion, she slid onto the edge of the desk, legs swinging in a lazy rhythm that matched the rain outside. The chaotic energy in her seemed to settle for a moment, or perhaps it only shifted, concentrated now where her mismatched eyes bore into him. ]

Letting go [ , she mused, the words curling and unfurling like smoke. ] That’s the trick, isn’t it? Not holding so tightly. Not dragging it with you. But I don’t think you’d like it. Letting go is messy. It leaves pieces behind, and you—you don’t like anything out of place, do you?

[ She leaned forward slightly, her hand brushing across a stack of papers as though her touch might rearrange them. ] You’d rather carry it. Keep it all neat and contained. Build it into something sharp, something heavy. But sharp things cut. Heavy things crush. And even if you never stop, even if the wheel keeps turning, the weight doesn’t go away.