Sophia's contact answered on the third ring.I watched her talk, the particular economy of a journalist operating in professional mode, precise sentences, no wasted words, the version of Sophia that existed before friendship complicated everything, the version that had apparently been keeping a clean source separate from everything else for exactly the kind of situation we were currently sitting inside.I looked away before she caught me watching.Adrian had moved slightly, not away from me, just enough to give me thinking space, and I was beginning to understand that this was something he did deliberately now, the small calibrated adjustments of a man who had spent three years taking up too much space and was now learning the correct amount, practicing it the way you practiced anything that didn't come naturally, consciously and with effort and imperfectly but consistently.The imperfectly mattered.Perfect would have felt like performance.This felt like trying."She's good."My mot
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