Chapter 3 Cracks in the Ice

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Chapter Three: Cracks in the Ice

Three weeks into the job, Erica had learned two things: Adrian Blake hated small talk, and he noticed everything.

He never raised his voice, never praised, never smiled-but somehow, he always knew if a report was off by a decimal or if a client had the wrong tone in an email. He was brilliant and exhausting.

Erica kept up. She stayed late, double-checked every document, even learned his coffee order without asking-black, no sugar, Colombian roast, exactly 205 degrees. She never expected a "thank you," and she never got one.

But every now and then, he'd pause. Glance at her like he was trying to figure her out.

One Wednesday night, everyone had cleared the office. Erica stayed behind, working on a schedule revision. Adrian was in his office, still typing. It was nearly 9:00 p.m.

Then the lights flickered.

And went out.

"Damn," Erica muttered, standing. Emergency lights kicked in-dim, red-tinted. She walked to his door and knocked.

"Yes?" he said, his voice unusually calm.

"The power's out. Elevators are down. I think we're locked in."

He stood, looking around with mild irritation. "Of course. Generator's being replaced this week."

She leaned against the doorframe. "So... do we just wait? I could call building security."

"No signal," he said, checking his phone. "Concrete floors. We wait."

For a moment, silence hung between them. He returned to his seat, but without power, his laptop was useless. Erica hesitated, then stepped in.

"You always work this late?"

He didn't look up. "There's always work."

She smirked. "You know, some people take breaks. Eat dinner. Sleep."

"That's inefficient."

"That's unhealthy."

He glanced at her. She looked different in the emergency lights-softer, almost glowing. "You sound like my therapist."

"You have a therapist?"

"I fired him," Adrian said flatly.

She laughed, and for the first time, his lips twitched into the ghost of a smile.

They sat in that low red light, talking about nothing-traffic, college, bad coffee. He told her how he used to draw cars as a kid. She told him how she used to pretend she was Oprah in front of her mirror. He didn't talk much, but when he did, he was honest.

Something shifted that night. He saw her-not as a staff member. Just as Erica.

And she saw him-not as the Ice King.

But as a man who'd forgotten how to feel warm.

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