I watch the exact moment recognition hits. Her spine straightens, color rising in her cheeks, and her fingers tighten around the tablet.
I shouldn’t feel satisfied by her reaction. I do anyway. “Excuse me,” I say to Mitchell, and cross the room.
The assessor notices me first, stepping aside immediately. “Mr. Rudenko. We were just discussing the preservation requirements.”
“I’ll handle it.” I don’t look at the man. My attention stays fixed on Janice, who’s doing an admirable job of pretending she isn’t rattled. “You’re with Carmichael’s firm.”
It isn’t a question.
“Yes.” Her voice is steadier than I expect. “I’m documenting the site preparation process. Making sure everything aligns with the community impact assessment.”
“So, does it?”
“I don’t know yet. I just got here.”
“Then perhaps you should observe instead of interrogating my staff.”
Her jaw tightens. “I wasn’t interrogating. I was asking questions. That’s how observation works.”
I tilt my head, studying her. She’s nervous—I can see it in the way her knuckles have gone white around the tablet, the quick flutter of her pulse visible at her throat—but she isn’t backing down. Interesting.
“What’s your background?” I ask.
“Urban development concentration.”
“So no practical experience.”
“Not yet.”
“Then you’re learning theory while watching other people build. Useful.” I let the word carry just enough dismissal to sting.
Her eyes flash. “More useful than tearing down historical architecture to build luxury condos no one in this neighborhood can afford.”
There it is. The spark I’d sensed at the event, buried under politeness and self-preservation. She has opinions. Strong ones. Apparently she’s reckless enough to voice them directly to my face.
I should shut her down. Should remind her that she’s here as a courtesy, that her firm’s involvement is cosmetic at best, that nothing she documents will change a single decision I make.
Instead, I say, “Walk with me.”
She hesitates. “I’m supposed to stay with the assessment team.”
“Walk. With. Me.”
Janice glances toward the assessor, who’s suddenly very interested in his clipboard, then back to me. I watch her weigh the options, see the moment she decides that refusing would be worse than complying.
She follows.
I lead her deeper into the building, away from the others. Our footsteps echo against bare concrete, punctuated by distant hammering from the floor above. Dust motes drift through shafts of sunlight, and the air tastes stale, undisturbed.
“You think I’m destroying something valuable,” I say without preamble.
“I think you’re destroying something that could be valuable. There’s a difference.”
“Is there?”
“Yes.” She stops walking, forcing me to turn and face her. “This building has history. Character. It’s been part of this community for eighty years. You could restore it, preserve the facade, integrate it into whatever you’re building instead of erasing it completely.”
“At triple the cost and half the efficiency.”
