Back upstairs, the afternoon feels different. Nothing has actually changed, the same voices, the same keyboards, the same half-finished conversations, but it sits lighter than it did this morning. You notice it in small things: your steps falling into place, the absence of the drag that followed you all day. You settle in, log back in, put the headset on, take the next call. Same work, same script, same measured tone. It just costs you less now. You catch yourself answering a little quicker, resisting the day a little less. Between calls your attention slides sideways, to your phone. You check it once, casually enough to pretend you aren't. Nothing yet. You didn't expect anything this fast. Still, the thought sits there: if she replies, you can handle it, the right tone, the right timing, even later, even somewhere louder than this. Another call comes in. You take it, resolve it, move on. The system runs on, indifferent, but you don't feel quite as fixed inside it anymore. Something is moving just past the routine. Tonight you'll deal with whatever comes. [[Cybercrime/The_Phisherman/End of day|End of day]]