The office after hours feels like a machine unplugged but not dead: lights half on, cleaners somewhere far down the hall, the soft irregular click of keyboards belonging to people who are either ambitious or desperate or both. You keep your head down until the last conversations fade and the light above your desk begins to hum, a thin sound that becomes unbearable if you listen too long. Nobody asks why you are still there. That is one of the advantages of being forgettable, until you realise forgettability is also how harm happens in plain sight. You open the laptop like opening a second mouth. The corridor lights throw long rectangles across the carpet. For a moment you feel both invisible and spotlighted, a contradiction you are getting used to. [[Quiet Evening Research]]