Velvet After Dark

The first thing I noticed about her was that she wasn't drinking.

Not a champagne flute, not a wine glass, not even a bottle of water. Her hands were empty, and in a room full of people using their drinks as shields and conversation starters, she stood with her arms loose at her sides like she didn't need a prop. The second thing I noticed was the dress. Black, floor-length, cut low enough in the back that I could see the faint indentation of her spine, the small hollow at the base of her neck where a single strand of dark hair had escaped whatever arrangement she'd made of it. The fabric moved when she moved, a slow liquid shimmer under the hotel ballroom lights.

I was holding a glass of something I hadn't tasted. Whiskey, probably. The ice had melted.

"You're staring," said a voice at my elbow.

Marcus. My business partner, my oldest friend, and currently the most irritating person in a fifty-meter radius.

"I'm observing," I said.

"You're staring. There's a difference, and you've crossed it." He took a sip of his own drink, something pink and ridiculous that matched his tie. "Who is she?"

"I don't know."

"Then go find out. You've been standing in this corner for twenty minutes like a piece of furniture. It's depressing."

He wasn't wrong. The annual gala for the Meridian Foundation was the kind of event I usually avoided, a parade of old money and new ambition, everyone performing their best version of themselves for an audience that didn't care. But my company had been a sponsor for three years running, and Marcus insisted that my presence was non-negotiable. Something about visibility. Something about relationships. I'd stopped listening after the third time he used the word "synergy."

The woman hadn't moved from her spot near the terrace doors. She was watching the room with an expression I couldn't read. Not bored. Not anxious. Something closer to appraisal. Like she was cataloging everyone, filing them away for later.

She turned her head, and our eyes met.

I've never believed in the kind of connection that happens in movies, that electric jolt when two people lock eyes across a crowded room. It's a cliché, and I've spent most of my adult life avoiding clichés. But I felt something. Not electricity. Recognition. Like I'd seen her before, though I knew I hadn't. Like she knew something about me that I didn't know about myself.

She smiled. Just a small curve at the corner of her mouth, barely there. Then she turned and walked through the terrace doors, out into the October night.

I set my glass on a passing tray and followed her.

The terrace was empty except for her. A few wrought-iron tables, a scattering of chairs, a view of the city skyline that probably cost someone a fortune to secure for the evening. The air was cold enough to see my breath, and she stood at the railing with her back to me, that long black dress pooling around her feet like spilled ink.

"You followed me," she said without turning around.

"You noticed."

"I notice everything." She glanced over her shoulder. "It's a habit. Sometimes a curse."

I stopped a few feet away, close enough to see the details I'd missed from across the room. The dress had a slit up the left leg, high enough that when she shifted her weight, I caught a glimpse of something dark and lacy underneath. Stockings. A garter, maybe. The kind of thing that wasn't meant to be seen but was worn anyway, a secret kept for its own sake.

"I'm Daniel," I said.

"I know who you are."

That stopped me. "You do?"

"Daniel Reeve. CEO of Arcadia Logistics. Thirty-six years old. Never married. You've been in the news lately for that acquisition deal with the port authority." She turned to face me fully, and the light from the ballroom spilled through the glass doors, catching the angles of her face. High cheekbones. Dark eyes. A mouth that looked like it was used to saying exactly what it meant. "I do my research."

"On everyone at the party?"

"On everyone who matters."

"And I matter?"

She tilted her head. "That depends on what you do next."

The cold air raised goosebumps on my arms, but I barely felt it. I was too focused on her, on the way she stood with her weight on one hip, on the challenge in her voice. She wasn't flirting. Not exactly. She was testing. Measuring. And I had the distinct impression that most people failed.

"What's your name?" I asked.

"Elise."

"Just Elise?"

"For now."

I moved closer, stopping at the railing beside her. The city stretched out below us, a grid of lights and shadows, and somewhere in the distance a siren wailed. The sound felt far away, part of a different world.

"You're not drinking," I said.

"I don't drink at events like this. It clouds the judgment."

"And you need clear judgment?"

"Always." She looked at me, and for a moment, neither of us spoke. The silence wasn't uncomfortable. It was charged, like the air before a storm. "You're wondering why I'm here."

"The thought crossed my mind."

"I'm here because I was invited. Same as you." She paused. "But I'm also here because I wanted to meet you."

That was unexpected. I've had people want to meet me before, plenty of them, but usually they're after something. A contract. An investment. A favor. Elise didn't look like she wanted any of those things. She looked like she wanted something else entirely.

"Why?"

"Because I've been watching you for three months," she said. "And I've decided that I want you."

The words landed like a punch to the chest. Direct. Unapologetic. I opened my mouth to respond, but nothing came out. She smiled again, that same small curve, and reached up to touch my lapel. Her fingers were cold against the fabric of my suit.

"You're wearing a Brioni," she said. "Navy, two-button, peak lapel. Custom, judging by the fit. You care about how you present yourself."

"You can tell all that from one touch?"

"I can tell a lot from one touch." She let her hand drop. "The question is whether you're brave enough to find out how much."

I should have walked away. That's what a sensible person would have done. She was playing a game, and I didn't know the rules, and everything about her screamed danger. But I've never been sensible when it matters. It's a flaw. Or a feature. Depends on who you ask.

"What do you want?" I asked.

"Tonight? I want to leave this party with you. I want to go somewhere we can be alone. And I want to see if you're as interesting as I think you are." She paused. "Tomorrow? I don't know yet. That depends on tonight."

"And if I say no?"

"Then I'll go back inside, finish my evening, and you'll never see me again. No hard feelings. No regrets." She shrugged. "But you won't say no."

"You're confident."

"I'm rarely wrong."

The terrace door opened behind us, and a couple stumbled out, laughing, drunk, oblivious. They didn't notice us standing in the shadows, and I watched them weave their way to a table on the far side of the terrace. When I looked back at Elise, she was watching me with an expression that was almost amused.

"Decide," she said. "I don't like waiting."

I thought about Marcus, who was probably still inside, wondering where I'd gone. I thought about the acquisition deal, the meetings I had scheduled for tomorrow, the life I'd built with careful precision over the past decade. None of it felt real. Not compared to her. Not compared to the way she was looking at me, like I was the only thing in the world worth seeing.

"Give me five minutes," I said. "I need to tell my partner I'm leaving."

"Five minutes." She nodded. "I'll be here."

I walked back inside, and the warmth of the ballroom hit me like a wave. Marcus was exactly where I'd left him, though he'd acquired a new drink and a new conversation partner, some woman in a red dress who was laughing too loudly at something he'd said. He spotted me and raised an eyebrow.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," he said.

"Something like that."

"Where'd you disappear to?"

"Terrace. I'm leaving."

His expression shifted from curiosity to concern. "Everything okay?"

"Fine. Just tired." The lie came easily. "I'll call you tomorrow."

He studied me for a moment, and I could see him trying to figure out what had changed. Marcus has known me for fifteen years, and he can usually read me better than anyone. But this was different. This was something he couldn't see.

"Alright," he said finally. "Get home safe."

"I will."

I didn't look back as I walked toward the terrace doors. The woman in red was already pulling Marcus back into conversation, and I knew he'd have questions for me tomorrow. I'd figure out how to answer them later. Or not. Some things don't need explaining.

Elise was exactly where I'd left her, standing at the railing with her back to the city. When she saw me, she smiled, and this time it was different. Warmer. Like she'd been holding her breath and could finally let it out.

"You came back," she said.

"I said I would."

"People say a lot of things." She stepped closer, close enough that I could smell her perfume, something dark and floral, jasmine maybe, with an undertone of something sharper. "But you meant it."

"I meant it."

She reached out and took my hand. Her fingers were still cold, but they curled around mine with surprising strength.

"Good," she said. "Let's go."

We walked through the hotel lobby together, past the front desk, past the bar where a few stragglers from the party had gathered, past the doorman who nodded at us without interest. The night air hit me again when we stepped outside, and I realized I had no idea where we were going. I'd left my car with the valet, and she didn't seem to have a bag or a coat or anything.

"Where's your car?" I asked.

"I took a cab."

"And your coat?"

"Didn't bring one." She looked at me, and in the streetlight, her eyes were almost black. "I wasn't planning on being outside for long."

The implication hung in the air between us. She'd known. She'd known from the start that she'd be leaving with someone, that she'd be going somewhere warm, somewhere private. She'd planned this. All of it.

"My car's in the garage," I said. "I can drive."

"That works."

We walked to the parking garage in silence. My footsteps echoed off the concrete walls, and her heels clicked against the pavement, a steady rhythm that matched the beating of my heart. I kept waiting for her to say something, to explain herself, to give me some clue about who she was and what she wanted. But she didn't. She just walked beside me, her hand still in mine, like this was the most natural thing in the world.

My car was a black sedan, nothing flashy, but reliable. I opened the passenger door for her, and she slid inside without comment. When I got behind the wheel, she was already adjusting the seat, making herself comfortable like she'd done this a hundred times before.

"Where to?" I asked.

"My hotel. The Waverly. Do you know it?"

"I know it."

"Good." She leaned back and closed her eyes. "Drive."

I pulled out of the garage and onto the street. The city was quiet at this hour, the bars and restaurants still open but the sidewalks mostly empty. Streetlights flashed past, casting shifting shadows across her face. She looked peaceful, almost serene, like she was exactly where she wanted to be.

"You're not going to tell me anything about yourself," I said.

"I told you my name."

"That's not much."

"It's enough for now." She opened her eyes and looked at me. "You want to know who I am, where I come from, why I'm here. But those things don't matter tonight. Tonight is about something else."

"What's it about?"

"Discovery." She reached over and rested her hand on my thigh. The touch was light, almost casual, but it sent a jolt through my entire body. "I want to discover you. And I want you to discover me. Everything else can wait."

I kept my eyes on the road, but my mind was racing. I've had one-night stands before. I've had casual flings, brief encounters, relationships that burned hot and faded fast. But this felt different. This felt intentional. Like she'd been waiting for this moment, planning it, and I was just now catching up.

"Why me?" I asked.

"Why not you?"

"That's not an answer."

She laughed, a low sound that seemed to come from somewhere deep in her chest. "You're persistent. I like that." She squeezed my thigh, just once, then let her hand rest there. "I chose you because you're interesting. Because you're not like the other men at that party, all of them trying so hard to impress each other. You stood in the corner and watched. You didn't perform. You just... existed."

"That's not exactly a compliment."

"It is, from me." She turned her head to look out the window. "I've spent my whole life surrounded by people who perform. Who say what they think they're supposed to say, do what they think they're supposed to do. It's exhausting. And then I saw you, standing there with your melted ice and your bored expression, and I thought, there's someone who doesn't care what anyone thinks."

"I care," I said. "I just hide it better."

"Maybe. But you're honest about it. That's rare."

We drove in silence for a few more minutes. The Waverly appeared ahead, a tall glass building with a doorman out front and a lobby that glowed gold through the windows. I pulled up to the entrance and put the car in park.

"Are you coming up?" she asked.

"I thought that was the plan."

"It is." She opened her door and stepped out, and I watched her dress swirl around her legs as she moved. "But I wanted to give you the choice. One last chance to change your mind."

I got out of the car and walked around to meet her. The doorman was already approaching, but she waved him off with a gesture that suggested she was used to being obeyed.

"I'm not changing my mind," I said.

"Good." She took my hand again and led me through the glass doors, past the front desk, past the elevators, into a lobby that smelled like expensive candles and fresh flowers. "Because I would have been disappointed."

The elevator ride was silent. She stood beside me, close enough that our shoulders touched, and I could feel the heat radiating off her body. The numbers ticked up, floor by floor, and I found myself counting them, trying to slow my racing thoughts.

"What floor?" I asked.

"Twelve."

The elevator stopped, and the doors slid open. The hallway was empty, carpeted in deep gray, with lighting that was dim and warm. She led me to a door at the end of the hall and pulled a key card from somewhere I hadn't seen, a pocket in her dress, maybe, or a hidden clutch.

The room was a suite. A living area with a couch and a coffee table, a bedroom visible through an open door, a window that looked out over the city. She walked inside and dropped her key card on the table, then turned to face me.

"Close the door," she said.

I did.

The click of the latch sounded louder than it should have. Final. Like a door closing on one part of my life and opening onto something else. She stood in the middle of the room, watching me, and for a moment neither of us moved.

"You're nervous," she said.

"A little."

"Don't be." She walked toward me, slow, deliberate, her heels silent on the carpet. "I'm not going to hurt you."

"That's not what I'm worried about."

"Then what?"

I didn't have an answer. Or rather, I had too many answers, all of them tangled up together. I was worried about what this meant. About what would happen tomorrow. About the fact that I'd known her for less than an hour and already felt like I couldn't walk away.

She stopped in front of me, close enough that I could feel her breath on my neck. She reached up and touched my face, her fingers tracing the line of my jaw.

"You think too much," she said. "I could see it the moment I met you. All that calculation, all that analysis. You're always trying to figure out the angle, the outcome, the next move." She let her hand drop to my chest, resting over my heart. "But this isn't a negotiation. This isn't a deal to be closed. This is just... this."

"And what is this?"

"I don't know yet." She smiled, and this time it was different, softer, almost vulnerable. "That's what makes it exciting."

She stepped back and reached behind her, finding the zipper of her dress with practiced ease. The sound of it opening was quiet, a whisper of metal on fabric, and then the dress loosened, the black silk sliding down her shoulders.

I watched, frozen, as she let it fall. The dress pooled at her feet, and she stood there in nothing but black lace and silk. A strapless bra that pushed her breasts up, a matching thong that barely covered anything, and the garter belt I'd glimpsed earlier, holding up stockings that ended mid-thigh. The whole ensemble was dark and delicate, a deliberate choice, something she'd put on knowing it would be seen.

"Like what you see?" she asked.

I couldn't speak. I just nodded.

She stepped out of the dress and walked toward me again, and this time when she touched me, it wasn't gentle. She grabbed the lapels of my jacket and pulled me close, her mouth finding mine in a kiss that was anything but tentative. Her lips were soft but insistent, and her tongue slipped between them with an ease that suggested she knew exactly what she was doing.

I kissed her back, my hands finding her waist, her skin warm under my palms. She tasted like mint and something else, something sweet, and I pulled her closer, wanting more, wanting everything.

She broke the kiss and stepped back, breathing hard. Her lips were swollen, her eyes dark, and she looked at me like I was something she wanted to devour.

"Take off your clothes," she said.

I obeyed.

The jacket came first, then the tie, then the shirt. I fumbled with the buttons, my fingers clumsy in a way they hadn't been since I was a teenager. She watched me the whole time, her gaze unwavering, and when I was finally standing in just my boxers, she walked a slow circle around me, appraising.

"Not bad," she said. "You take care of yourself."

"I try."

"You succeed." She stopped behind me and ran her hands down my back, her nails grazing my skin. "I like a man who takes care of himself. It shows discipline."

"And you like discipline?"

"I like a lot of things." She came around to face me again and pressed her body against mine. The lace of her bra was rough against my chest, and I could feel the heat of her through the thin fabric of her underwear. "But right now, I want to focus on one thing."

"What's that?"

She reached down and cupped me through my boxers, her fingers wrapping around my erection with a confidence that made me gasp.

"This," she said. "I want to focus on this."

She pushed me backward, and I stumbled onto the couch, landing in a sitting position. She stood over me, looking down with a smile that was equal parts predatory and pleased.

"Stay there," she said.

She walked to the bedroom and disappeared through the door. I sat on the couch, my heart pounding, my mind racing. I could still taste her on my lips, still feel the ghost of her touch on my skin. Part of me wanted to follow her, to see what she was doing, but another part, the part that was still capable of rational thought, told me to wait.

She came back a moment later with something in her hand. A condom, still in its wrapper. She tossed it onto the coffee table and then climbed onto the couch, straddling me, her knees on either side of my hips.

"Comfortable?" she asked.

"Getting there."

She laughed and leaned down to kiss me again. This time it was slower, deeper, like she was savoring the moment. Her hands moved over my chest, my shoulders, my arms, exploring, learning. And I did the same, my fingers tracing the lines of her body, the curve of her waist, the swell of her hips.

She reached behind her and unclasped her bra, letting it fall away. Her breasts were full, her nipples dark and hard, and I reached up to touch them, to feel the weight of them in my hands. She closed her eyes and sighed, arching her back into my touch.

"Good," she murmured. "That's good."

I leaned forward and took one nipple in my mouth, sucking gently, and she gasped, her fingers tangling in my hair. I moved to the other, giving it the same attention, and she rocked against me, her hips pressing down, the heat of her core radiating through her thong.

"You're good at this," she said, her voice breathless.

"I've had practice."

"I can tell."

She reached down and pushed at my boxers, and I lifted my hips to help her. She pulled them off and tossed them aside, and then I was naked beneath her, my erection standing up between us, hard and aching.

She looked down at it, then back at my face, and smiled.

"Nice," she said. "Very nice."

She reached for the condom and tore the wrapper open with her teeth, a move that should have been cliché but somehow worked. She rolled it onto me with practiced ease, and then she positioned herself above me, her hand guiding me to her entrance.

"Ready?" she asked.

"God, yes."

She lowered herself onto me, and I felt myself slide inside her, inch by inch, until I was buried to the hilt. She was warm and wet and tight, and I had to close my eyes for a moment to keep from losing control.

"Look at me," she said.

I opened my eyes. She was watching me, her expression intense, her lips parted. She began to move, slow at first, rocking her hips in a rhythm that was almost hypnotic.

"You feel amazing," I said.

"You feel pretty good yourself." She leaned down and kissed me, her tongue matching the rhythm of her hips. "But we're just getting started."

She sat back up and began to move faster, her hands braced on my shoulders, her breasts bouncing with each thrust. I reached up and cupped them, feeling the weight, the softness, the way her nipples hardened further under my touch.

"Harder," she said.

I thrust up into her, meeting her movements, and she moaned, a low sound that seemed to come from somewhere deep in her throat.

"Yes," she said. "Like that."

We moved together, our bodies finding a rhythm, a syncopation that felt almost choreographed. I've had sex before, plenty of it, but this was different. This was like a conversation, a back-and-forth, a give and take. She'd move, and I'd respond. I'd touch her, and she'd touch me. It was like we'd been doing this for years.

She reached down and began to rub her clit, her fingers moving in small circles, and I could feel her getting closer, her muscles tightening around me.

"Don't stop," she said. "Don't you dare stop."

I didn't. I kept thrusting, kept moving, kept giving her everything I had. And when she came, it was like a wave crashing over her. She threw her head back and cried out, her whole body shuddering, her inner muscles clenching around me in a way that pushed me over the edge.

I came with her, my hips bucking, my hands gripping her waist. The release was intense, almost overwhelming, and for a moment I couldn't see, couldn't think, couldn't do anything but feel.

When it was over, she collapsed against my chest, her breathing ragged, her skin slick with sweat. I wrapped my arms around her and held her close, feeling her heart pounding against mine.

"Wow," I said.

"Yeah." She laughed, a breathless sound. "Wow."

We stayed like that for a while, neither of us speaking, just breathing. The city lights flickered outside the window, and somewhere in the distance, a siren wailed. The world kept turning, but in that room, time seemed to have stopped.

Eventually, she lifted her head and looked at me. Her eyes were soft now, the intensity replaced by something gentler.

"That was..." she started, then stopped.

"Yeah," I said. "It was."

She smiled and kissed me, soft this time, almost tender. Then she stood up, letting me slip out of her, and walked toward the bedroom.

"Come on," she said over her shoulder. "The bed's more comfortable."

I followed her, leaving the condom behind, leaving everything behind. The bedroom was dark except for the light from the window, and she climbed onto the bed and lay on her back, watching me.

"Lie down," she said.

I lay beside her, and she turned on her side to face me. Her hand found mine, and she laced her fingers through mine.

"Tell me something," she said.

"What?"

"Something true. Something you've never told anyone."

I thought about it. There were plenty of things I'd never told anyone, secrets I'd kept buried for years. But none of them seemed right for this moment. None of them seemed to fit.

"I'm afraid of being alone," I said finally. "Not in the moment. I'm fine with solitude. But in the long run. I'm afraid I'll wake up one day and realize I've spent my whole life building something that doesn't matter, and there won't be anyone there to tell me I was wrong."

She was quiet for a moment. Then she squeezed my hand.

"That's not nothing," she said.

"Your turn."

She took a breath. Let it out. "I've never been in love," she said. "I've had relationships. I've had lovers. But I've never let myself fall. I'm always holding back, always keeping one foot out the door. And I'm afraid that one day I'll look back and realize I missed it. That I was so busy protecting myself that I never let anyone in."

The words hung in the air between us. Honest. Raw. The kind of thing you don't say to a stranger, except sometimes it's easier to say to a stranger than to someone you know.

"Why did you come here tonight?" I asked.

"I told you. I wanted to meet you."

"But why?"

She was silent for a long time. When she spoke, her voice was quiet.

"Because I saw you at a conference three months ago. You were giving a presentation, and you were good. Not just competent. Good. You had this way of talking that made everyone in the room feel like you were speaking directly to them. And afterward, I watched you leave. You didn't stay to network. You didn't try to impress anyone. You just... left."

"I don't like crowds."

"I know. That's what I noticed." She turned her head to look at me. "I've been watching you ever since. Not in a creepy way. Just... paying attention. And I decided that if I ever got the chance, I'd take it."

"And tonight was the chance?"

"Tonight was the chance."

I didn't know what to say. Part of me was unnerved. She'd been watching me for months, tracking me, waiting for an opportunity. That was obsessive. That was borderline stalker behavior. But another part of me was flattered. Intrigued. Turned on.

"You could have just introduced yourself," I said.

"Where's the fun in that?"

"You wanted the drama."

"I wanted the moment." She rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling. "I wanted it to be memorable. I wanted you to remember me."

"I'll remember you."

"Will you?"

I propped myself up on one elbow and looked down at her. She was beautiful in the dim light, her dark hair spread across the pillow, her body still flushed from what we'd done. But it wasn't just her looks that drew me. It was her. The whole package. The confidence, the intelligence, the hint of vulnerability underneath.

"I'll remember you," I said again. "For a long time."

She smiled, and it was the first genuine smile I'd seen from her, not the practiced curve she'd used at the party, not the predatory grin she'd worn when she was in control. Just a smile. Warm. Real.

"Good," she said. "That's what I wanted."

We lay there in silence for a while, and eventually, I felt sleep pulling at me. The day had been long, the night longer, and my body was finally catching up. But before I drifted off, I had one more question.

"Elise," I said.

"Hmm?"

"What happens tomorrow?"

She was quiet for a moment. Then she turned her head and looked at me.

"Tomorrow," she said, "we figure out if this was just one night, or if it's something more."

"And how do we do that?"

"We spend the day together. We talk. We learn. We see if we still like each other when we're not in a hotel room, when we're not performing." She paused. "And if we do, then we figure out the next step."

"And if we don't?"

"Then we go our separate ways. No regrets. No hard feelings."

I nodded. It was a reasonable plan. Sensible. Adult. But something about it felt wrong. Something about the idea of walking away from her, of never seeing her again, made my chest ache.

"Okay," I said. "Tomorrow."

She kissed my cheek and settled against me, her head on my shoulder, her arm across my chest. Within minutes, her breathing slowed, and I knew she was asleep.

I stayed awake for a while longer, staring at the ceiling, trying to make sense of what had happened. I'd come to a party I didn't want to attend, met a woman I didn't know, and now I was lying in her bed, planning a future that might not exist. It was insane. It was reckless. It was the most alive I'd felt in years.

I closed my eyes and let sleep take me.

When I woke up, the sun was streaming through the window, and the bed was empty. I sat up, disoriented, and looked around. The room was the same as it had been last night, but something was different. Something was missing.

I got out of bed and walked into the living room. Her dress was gone from the floor. The key card was gone from the table. The only thing left was a piece of paper on the coffee table, folded in half.

I picked it up and read it.

"Had to leave early. Meeting. But I meant what I said. Today. Noon. The coffee shop on the corner of Fifth and Main. I'll be there. I hope you will too."

It was signed with a single letter. E.

I stood there for a long time, holding the note, trying to decide what to do. I had meetings today. I had responsibilities. I had a life that didn't include mysterious women who left notes on coffee tables.

But I also had a choice.

I folded the note and put it in my pocket. Then I found my phone and called Marcus.

"Hey," I said when he answered. "I need you to clear my schedule today."

There was a pause. "Everything okay?"

"Everything's fine. I just... I need a day."

Another pause. "Does this have something to do with the woman from the party?"

I didn't answer.

"Alright," he said. "I'll handle it. But you're telling me everything tomorrow."

"Deal."

I hung up and got dressed. The suit from last night was wrinkled, but I didn't care. I had a coffee shop to find. And a woman to meet. And a future to figure out.

The note was still in my pocket when I walked out the door. I touched it once, just to make sure it was real, and then I stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the lobby.

The doors closed, and the car began to descend.

I had no idea what was waiting for me. But for the first time in a long time, I was excited to find out.