The Oval Office felt smaller that afternoon, sunlight slanting through the bulletproof windows as Vince Harlan leaned against the Resolute Desk, his tie loosened after a grueling briefing on the escalating whistleblower crisis. Nia stood across from him, stack of revised speech notes in hand, her mind still replaying the warehouse encounter—the toys stretching her, Vardo's commands echoing. She forced focus, outlining the counter-narrative for the press leak.
Vince's eyes softened, lingering on her face longer than policy warranted. 'Nia, you've been my rock through this mess. The way you mediate, the fire in your words... it's more than professional.' He stepped closer, the scent of his cologne—clean, woodsy—cutting through the room's staleness. 'Dinner tonight? Just us. No agendas, no b
