The small café near the OKDA project site was quiet that afternoon. Soft jazz played; the air smelled of freshly ground coffee. Damian sat in a corner table. Across from him, Tamara opened her laptop and a stack of vendor files.

“Sorry I’m late,” Tamara said as she sat. “The contractor sent a revised electrical layout.”

“It’s fine.” Damian shut his phone. His smile was thin but relieved.

Tamara glanced up. “What? Something wrong?”

Damian hesitated, then said, ...