The shift winds down. Your headset rests on the desk, cord coiled where you dropped it. The lights overhead buzz at the edge of hearing, the way they do when a day has gone on too long. At closing you check your phone so casually it almost fools you, a flick, a brighten, eyes sliding away as if you were only checking the time. No reply. Or none you're ready to admit you want. The absence sits in your chest, held there. Around you the office performs its end-of-day rituals: chairs pushed in, coats off hooks, someone laughing too loud in the kitchen, someone already gone without a word. Ordinary life, stubbornly carrying on. You can leave with everyone else and carry the day job home, or stay while the floor empties into the kind of quiet that feels like permission, and like a trap, because it's where the other work waits. You're waiting for a message the way people wait for test results: hoping and not hoping at once. [[Cybercrime/The_Phisherman/End of day|End of day]] --- [[Stay at desk after shift]]