Page 10 of The Rules
And maybe that’s what bothers her the most.
The hours slip by unnoticed. One case turns into another, and then another. The city outside shifts into twilight, long shadows spilling across her desk like a quiet reminder of time lost. She doesn’t remember when she last moved. Her neck aches, her eyes burn, and her brain feels wrapped in static.
It’s only when the cursor on her screen blinks at her—taunting, insistent—that she realizes just how drained she is. Still more hours to go. She needs caffeine. Desperately.
The break room is dimly lit, a soft, steady space away from the buzz of the office. Katherine steps inside, her mind still sorting through the morning’s cases. Her hand reaches for the coffee pot—a familiar, necessary ritual—and then she stops.
Sinclair is already there.
He stands by the counter, tall and composed, moving with quiet precision. Nothing performative, no gesture meant for effect. Just coffee, poured in silence.
He doesn’t ask if she wants any. Doesn’t need to.
He pours a second cup and sets it beside the first. Calm. Practical. As if it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Katherine glances at the cup, then at him. No invitation.
No explanation. Just—space made for her.
She takes it.
Her breath catches—barely, but enough. The gesture throws her for a beat. No comment. No performance. Just this: a small act, quietly offered.
She searches his face, but his expression gives little away. Not cold, not warm. Just contained.
And somehow, that unsettles her more.
The silence stretches—steady, not hostile, but close.
Too close.
She accepts the cup, arching a brow. “Didn’t know you were in the business of small mercies.” Her hand had brushed his when she took it. Too warm. Too aware. Her heartbeat had stuttered before she locked it down.
He doesn’t answer right away. Just watches her over the rim of his own cup, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.
Then: “You’ve lasted longer than I expected, Winters.”
Kath exhales a short laugh, blowing over the steam of her coffee. “You’ll have to try harder if you want to break me, Sinclair."
He tilts his head slightly, studying her like a puzzle he hasn’t quite solved. Then, too casually, he says, “Then maybe it’s time to stop testing your endurance and see if you’re as good as they claim.”
A flicker of something tightens in her chest. She stills—but only for a beat, hiding it behind a measured sip of coffee.
She looks at him longer than she means to. There’s nothing soft about his face—no warmth, no invitation—just that sharp, endless gaze that never quite settles. It should be unnerving.
But for some reason, it’s not.
And when her eyes finally drop back to the cup in her hands, there's a heat in her cheeks she hopes he didn’t notice.
He says nothing. Just moves past her, his voice low, lightly amused. “Guess you’ll find out soon enough.”
She watches him go, fingers tightening around the mug.
No smile. No smirk.
Butsomehow, she knows he saw everything anyway.
By the time she made it home, the exhaustion hit like a wave.
