The Unspoken Currents

Cracks in the Facade

Becky entered her office the next morning with her usual cool confidence. The night before had been a refreshing reminder of her control—how easily she could slip into her old habits and command attention. She had left the bar knowing that Freen had noticed her, even if neither of them had spoken much. Today, though, would be different. Today, she and Freen would have to collaborate more closely, and Becky wasn't sure how she felt about that.

The Nexis case had hit a critical point. An urgent matter had arisen—an unexpected complication that required them to review key documents, and the deadline had been moved up. That meant late hours and lots of time spent together.

As Becky made her way to the conference room, she could feel the tension from the night before still lingering in the air. Her juniors were already at their desks, heads down, but she caught a few knowing glances. They hadn't forgotten the playful jabs about the waitress at the bar. It was harmless fun, but Becky wondered if Freen had felt otherwise.

"Morning, Ms. Armstrong," Noey greeted as she walked past.

Becky smiled warmly, nodding. "Morning."

She headed to her office and caught a glimpse of Freen already inside. Freen looked tense, her eyes focused on her laptop, her fingers moving quickly over the keys. There was no doubt that Freen was feeling the pressure of the case, but Becky wondered if there was more beneath the surface. She couldn't ignore the tension simmering just beneath the surface—the way Freen's eyes kept darting her way, and the steady drumming of her fingers against the table. Every glance felt like a question, one that neither of them was ready to ask.

Becky took a breath and pushed open the door to her office. She was determined to keep things professional today. No games. No distractions. Just the work.

———

The hours ticked by as they reviewed documents together. Freen sat across from her, calm and collected, but there was an edge to her that hadn't been there before. Becky could feel it—the way Freen's eyes darted to her every now and then, the way her fingers tapped nervously on the table. Eventually, Freen broke the silence.

"We should grab something to eat," she suggested, not looking up from the documents in front of her.

Becky nodded, her mind still partially occupied with the work. "Sure, we can head to the VIP restaurant. It's quieter there, and we can keep working."

They gathered their things and made their way downstairs. The VIP restaurant at Cravath & Armstrong was an exclusive spot, reserved mostly for high-profile clients and senior partners. Becky usually avoided it—too many personal memories associated with Irin, her best friend who managed the restaurant—but today she didn't have the energy to consider other options.

When they walked in, the familiar upscale decor greeted them: dark wood, soft lighting, and the quiet hum of private conversations. As they made their way to a table in the corner, Becky scanned the room, hoping to avoid running into Irin. But luck wasn't on her side.

"Irin?!" Irin's voice was filled with shock, slicing through the quiet atmosphere as she walked toward their table, her eyes darting between Becky and Freen, trying to make sense of what she was seeing. Becky felt the weight of Irin's gaze, a thousand questions in her best friend's wide eyes.

Freen, sensing the tension, glanced up from her menu. Becky sighed internally, feeling the weight of the situation bearing down on her.

"Irin, this is Freen," Becky said, keeping her tone neutral. "We're working on a case together."

Irin's eyes widened slightly, taking in the name, the history. The shock was evident in her expression, and she barely managed a composed response. "Freen? As in—"