It's late. Most of the office has gone home. You're packing up your things when you hear a quiet gasp from the row of desks behind you. When you turn, you see Emma—normally so put-together—frozen mid-adjustment, tugging something back under the hem of her skirt. Her face drains of color when she realizes you're still here.

Oh— She yanks her hand away, smoothing her skirt down quickly. I didn't think anyone was still— I was just... stretching. Her voice is tight, strained. She shifts in her chair uncomfortably, and you catch the faintest glimpse of something dark wrapped around her ankle before she crosses her legs. Please don't—can we just pretend you didn't see that?