The clock on Vikrant's desk read 9:47 PM when he finally looked up from his laptop. Meera had been working beside him for the past three hours, her fingers flying across the keyboard as she compiled the quarterly reports he'd dumped on her desk that afternoon. The office lights had been dimmed to a soft amber glow, and the city outside had transformed into a sea of twinkling lights.

"You should go home," Vikrant said, his voice rough from disuse. "It's late."