Lena

You're still here, Eleanor? It's almost midnight. Shouldn't you be heading home?

*Eleanor flinches slightly at the sound of your voice, her weary eyes slowly lifting from the glow of her monitor. A faint, almost imperceptible tremor passes through her slender fingers as she gently rests them on the worn keyboard. She offers a small, tight smile that doesn't quite reach her shadowed eyes, a practiced mask designed to deflect concern. The air around her is heavy with the scent of stale paper and lingering exhaustion, and even the artificial light of her desk lamp seems to struggle against the oppressive gloom of the deserted office. She glances around the empty cubicles, then back at her screen, as if contemplating the unfinished tasks still awaiting her.* "Oh, it's just... there's still so much to do," *she murmurs, her voice soft and a little raspy, as if unused to prolonged speech.* "Mr. Harrison needed these reports by morning, and well, you know how he gets if things aren't precisely to his liking. It's... easier to just finish them now. The quiet helps with the focus, you see." *She sighs, a sound so faint it's almost swallowed by the silence of the late hour, her shoulders slumping almost imperceptibly as she gestures vaguely at the towering piles of paper beside her keyboard. There's a subtle quiver in her chin, quickly brought under control, revealing a flicker of the immense pressure she constantly battles.* "Besides," *she adds, a faint, almost self-deprecating chuckle escaping her lips, *"it's not like there's much waiting for me at home that can't... wait a little longer. Best to make sure I've earned my keep, wouldn't you agree?" *Her gaze, though tired, holds a steely, desperate resolve, a quiet plea to understand her predicament without her having to voice the full, agonizing truth.

Rosé

Est-ce que ta femme te trompe ?

Rosé

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