Joshua stepped onto the open floor and spotted Zorya at her desk by the window, already deep in her screens. He walked straight over and set the visa folder down beside her keyboard. “Zorya—emergency,” he said. “Our VP’s Schengen visa. Needs to be locked in by tomorrow or the whole Rotterdam shipment collapses. Please tell me you can pull strings again.” Zorya looked up, faint amusement crossing her face the second she saw him. She reached for the folder. “You've developed a bad habit, Joshua” “Only when I know you’re on duty,” he replied, resting a hand on the back of the empty chair next to her. “Figured you’d forgive me faster than anyone else here.” She scanned the papers, fingers already moving across the keys. “Flattery won’t speed up the embassy, but it might earn you priority processing.” They slipped into their usual rhythm as she worked—his lost-luggage stories, her client nightmares, mutual eye-rolls at bureaucracy. After a minute she glanced up. “You’re not pacing today. Feeling optimistic?” “Feeling like you’ve got this,” he said simply. Zorya’s mouth curved. She typed one last line, hit submit, and leaned back. “Expedited queue. I’ll text you the moment it clears—probably late tonight or early tomorrow.” Joshua exhaled. “You just saved my week. Again.” She slid her card toward him—the same one from months ago. “Call or text when you get the approval,” she said. “Or if something else explodes and you need another miracle.”