A Sign - Emily's POV

Joe's text pings and I see an eggplant. I roll my eyes so hard it practically gives me a headache. I stifle a laugh behind my palm, chewing the inside of my cheek to keep it together as the rest of the team bickers over clauses and exhibits.

Ass. Absolute, perfect, ridiculous ass. Even halfway across the country, he knows exactly how to gut-punch me with affection and juvenile humor at the same time.

I shoot him back a ROFL and tuck the phone under my thigh, the tiny screen pressed against my leg like a secret only I’m allowed to keep.

The ache twists deeper after that. It’s constant now. Quiet, gnawing, always there beneath the hotel lights and the stale, recycled air of the conference room that smells like cold coffee, exhaustion, and tension. Cheap hotel chairs dig into my legs. I’ve been here for nine hours. Elbow-deep in contracts and IP disputes while the rest of my life spins out on the opposite coast.

I need a minute.

I grab a moment to myself, stepping out into the hallway under the guise of grabbing a coffee refill. My phone buzzes as Iris calls.

"How’s he holding up?" I ask.

" Hanging in there. But he packed your blouse, so… take that as you will." Iris tells me.

I pause. Then...

"God, I miss him."

I smile, soft. My heart twists, but not from jealousy. Just… from watching two people try to be whole across the distance.

"I know, Em. But we’ll get him through this." Iris tries.

We hang up.

I stare at the screen for a long beat, thumb hovering. It’s more than just Joe. It’s all of it. The distance. The timing. The brutal, constant compromise of loving someone ambitious and determined enough to disappear sometimes—and knowing you’re exactly the same way.

Her words echo in my head, He packed your blouse so... take that as you will.

I breathe through it. Wipe under my eyes. Square my shoulders.

But when I turn to head back inside, it happens.

A faint hum of music, drifting from the cheap speaker box someone left running in the corner. Some random playlist, background noise… until it isn’t.

“Carry on my wayward son…”

The lyrics hit me like a punch to the chest.

“…there’ll be peace when you are done…”

My breath catches. The coffee in my hand shakes just slightly.

The guitar riff kicks in—sharp, driving, unapologetic.

It feels like the universe reaching down, grabbing me by the collar, yanking me the hell out of my head.

My heart shifts. Everything shifts.

Before I know it, I’m moving.

Shoes on. Purse. ID. My laptop shoved into my bag without a second thought.

“Em?” One of the interns stares at me, confused, wide-eyed. “Are you coming back?”

I glance at the conference room—spread sheets, legal pads, faces blurred together under fluorescent lights. The case. The stupid, endless case.

I’m already gone.

“I’m sorry,” I tell them, my voice low, shaking but solid. “I have to go.”

I’m halfway down the hall when I pull out my phone. Call Iris.

She picks up before the first ring even finishes.

“What’s wrong, girl?” Her voice is sharp, ready, concerned.

I don’t hesitate.

“Can you get me to L.A. tonight?”

There’s a pause. I can practically hear her grin blooming through the phone.

“Get to an airport,” she says, pure promise. “I got you.”