You take your time getting up, though there's no real reason to. Behind you the café carries on, conversations closing over the space where you sat, and you think how easily these places reset once no one is watching. The staircase is quieter on the way up. Then you push the door and the sound returns all at once, voices over voices, headsets, keyboards, the hum of a system that doesn't pause because you stepped away. Everything at your desk is exactly where you left it. You log back in, the queue already full, and put the headset on. The next call comes through and you answer it. Your voice is the same as before lunch, measured, polite, controlled, but there's a distance in it now, a gap between the words and the person saying them. You hear it; no one else would. You resolve the issue, end the call, move to the next. The rhythm returns easily. Almost too easily. At some point you realise you're not really looking at your screen. The laptop is closed in your bag, not forgotten. The message you sent doesn't need anything from you yet; you've done your part. Your eyes drift to your phone, then back, as if something should have changed in between. Nothing has. Not yet. You put the headset back on and take the next call. [[Cybercrime/The_Phisherman/Check for replies at closing|Check for replies at closing]]