Chapter 216: Christmas Eve

December 24, 2029.TG Tower ran on schedules and deadlines, but the lobby smelled faintly like pine because someone in facilities had decided people should feel something. A small tree stood near the reception desk with simple lights and no ornaments that could break. Security guards wore the same uniforms, but one of them had a red cap on top of his head like he was testing whether management would tell him to take it off.

Timothy arrived a little after eight. The elevator ride was quiet. When the doors opened on the executive floor, he saw the difference immediately. Fewer footsteps. More empty desks. People had taken leave where they could. Those who stayed moved like they were finishing tasks so they could escape.

Hana was already in her office. Her door was open. She had a stack of folders, a laptop, and a paper cup of coffee that looked untouched. She was on a call, voice low, one hand covering the mic as she listened.

Timothy walked past her doorway, tapped the frame once to signal he was there, then kept moving toward his own office.

He did not make it far.

"Hana," he called, not loud.

She ended the call in two sentences, then stepped into the hallway with the phone still in her hand.

"What," she asked.

"You look like you are going to work until midnight."

Hana’s eyes moved to the folder tucked under his arm. "You say that like you are not."

Timothy held the folder up slightly. "I am doing one thing today."

Hana leaned against the wall. "That is what you said last year."

Timothy did not deny it. He glanced at the glass walls down the hall. Most offices were empty. The city outside was bright and indifferent.

"I want a quiet day," he said.

Hana stared at him like she was waiting for the second sentence where he revealed the trap.

"And," Timothy added, "before you accuse me of pretending to be normal, I mean it. Quiet."

Hana’s phone vibrated again. She ignored it. "Define quiet."

"No meetings. No calls. No emergency plan reviews," Timothy said. "We sign the payroll approvals that need signing. We check the foundation’s release schedule. Then we leave."

Hana laughed once, short. "Leave where."

Timothy looked at her. "You are still working if you stay here."

"I am still working if I leave," Hana said.

"Less," Timothy replied.

Hana pushed off the wall and followed him into his office without asking permission. She dropped into the chair opposite his desk and finally took a sip of coffee.

Timothy placed the folder down and slid it open. Inside were printed pages, not thick, not urgent. A short holiday schedule, security notes for reduced staffing, and a single page from the TG Foundation team about year-end deliveries. School supplies. Repair kits. Two small construction mobilizations scheduled for early January.

Hana scanned the foundation page and nodded.

"This part is clean," she said. "Procurement did not try to be clever."

"They were warned," Timothy replied.

Hana flipped another page. "Motus Program?"

Timothy shook his head. "Nothing today."

Hana looked up. "Nothing."

"Nothing," Timothy repeated. "The car can sit. The team can have a day. Even Carlos can have a day."

Hana’s mouth tightened like she was not sure she believed him. "You are feeling generous."

Timothy leaned back. "I am feeling tired."

Hana stared at him, then nodded once. She did not soften her tone. She just accepted the statement as data.

Outside, the hall stayed quiet. A few assistants walked by carrying boxes. Someone’s laughter echoed briefly from the pantry area, then died as quickly as it came.

Timothy signed two pages, handed them to Hana, and watched her put them into a tray with practiced precision. She checked her phone again, then locked it.

"I have one request," Hana said.

Timothy raised an eyebrow.

"Lunch outside," she said. "Not downstairs. Not in the building. Outside."

Timothy stood. "Fine."

They took a service elevator down to avoid the lobby cameras. Not because of fear, because it was easier. Hana walked ahead with a steady pace, her heels quiet on the polished floor. Timothy followed, hands in his jacket pockets, watching the building staff move around doing half-shifts.

The street traffic was lighter than usual. People were still working, but the rhythm was different. Less honking. More hesitation at intersections. A few delivery riders carried stacked boxes tied down with rope. A jeepney passed with a small string of lights taped to the dashboard, blinking weakly.

Hana led them to a small restaurant a few blocks away. Not trendy. Clean enough. Quiet enough. The kind of place where office people ate when they wanted food and did not want to be seen.

They sat in a corner booth.

A waiter approached and recognized Timothy a second too late. He looked down, adjusted his face, then asked for orders like he did not know him.

Timothy ordered a simple meal. Hana ordered the same, then added a side dish without explaining why.

When the waiter left, Hana leaned back and exhaled.

"You look less angry when you are not in the tower," she said.

Timothy looked at the wall clock above the counter. "I am not angry."

"You look less sharp," Hana corrected. "Like you are not waiting to stab a problem."

Timothy met her eyes. "Are you okay."

Hana blinked at him like he had asked something irrelevant. Then she looked down at the table and tapped her finger twice against the wood.

"I am fine," she said. "But I do not want to spend Christmas Eve talking to lawyers and communications staff about a car silhouette."

Timothy nodded once. "We are not."

Hana watched him for a moment. "You are doing this because of me."

Timothy did not answer right away. The restaurant radio played low in the background. A slow song. The sound of plates. A doorbell ringing when someone entered.

"I am doing it because I do not want to burn people out," Timothy said. "You included."

Hana’s face stayed neutral, but she stopped tapping the table.

Food arrived. They ate without rushing.

Halfway through, Hana slid her phone across the table. The screen showed a group chat with a few names Timothy recognized. Carlos. A legal lead. A security chief. A foundation operations manager. The chat name was short and boring.

Hana pointed at one message.

Carlos: "No work tonight. Team can go home. Bay locked. Logs clean."

Timothy nodded.

Another message followed.

Foundation Ops: "Supplies dispatched to regional hubs. No delays. Teachers’ kits are packed."

Hana watched Timothy read it. "That one matters more than the car," she said.

Timothy agreed without saying it. He finished his meal and set his utensils down.

Hana took a breath. "I did something yesterday."

Timothy waited.

"I sent small gift envelopes to the comms team," she said. "Not big. Not loud. Just enough for them to feel seen."

Timothy nodded. "Good."

Hana looked annoyed at herself. "Do not make it a big deal."

"I am not," Timothy said.

She picked up her glass. "I hate that this is what counts as rest for us."

Timothy looked out the window. A family walked past holding shopping bags. A child carried a plastic toy box bigger than his chest. The father’s hand stayed on the child’s shoulder to keep him from stepping off the curb too early.

"We do not know how to stop," Timothy said.

Hana snorted. "No. You do not know how to stop. I just get dragged."

Timothy glanced back at her. "Then drag me today."

Hana stared at him. "Fine."

They paid and walked outside. The late morning heat was mild for December. The sky was clear. BGC looked polished and controlled the way it always did, but the streets had a softer pace.

Hana walked without a destination for a few minutes, then turned down a side street lined with small shops. A bookstore sat at the corner. She walked in like she had already decided.

Timothy followed.

Inside, the air smelled like paper and dust. A few customers browsed quietly. A staff member arranged a shelf while humming under his breath.

Hana went straight to a section near the back and pulled out a thin book on nonprofit governance and audits. She flipped through it fast, eyes scanning headings.

Timothy watched her.

"You are still working," he said.

Hana held the book up. "This is not work. This is insurance."

Timothy did not argue. He picked up a different book, one about vehicle dynamics. He opened it, read two pages, then closed it and put it back on the shelf.

Hana saw that and smirked. "You are still thinking about the car."

Timothy answered, simple. "It is a problem I like."

Hana carried her book to the counter, paid, and tucked it into her bag. When they stepped back outside, she looked down the street and then pointed at a small stall selling cheap keychains and trinkets.

"I want something stupid," she said.

Timothy looked at her. "For who."

"For me," Hana replied, then walked over.

She bought a small keychain shaped like a simple metal wrench. Not cute. Not flashy. Just a tool shape. She turned it in her fingers like she was checking its weight.

Timothy watched her clip it onto her keys.

"You like that," he said.

"It is honest," Hana replied, using his own word against him.

They kept walking until the heat pushed them back toward shade. They ended up at a small park area with benches and trimmed grass. Nothing private. Just quiet enough.

They sat.

For a few minutes, neither of them spoke.

Hana checked her phone once, then shoved it back into her bag like she hated it.

Timothy watched people passing. Office workers. Families. Delivery riders. Everyone moving toward a day that would end in food and noise.

Hana broke the silence.

"When this car thing becomes real, you know what will happen," she said.

Timothy looked at her. "Tell me."

"You will attract people who do not care about engineering," Hana said. "They will care about access. They will want your time. They will want photos. They will want to be near something that looks like it is winning."

Timothy nodded. "Yes."

"And the engineers will get pulled into that," Hana continued. "They will start performing instead of building."

Timothy stayed quiet.

Hana leaned forward, elbows on her knees. "If you want this to become a real line someday, you have to protect the process. Like the foundation. Structure and boundaries. Same idea."

Timothy watched her hands, steady, controlled. He knew she was right. He also knew she was saying it today because she could say it today without it turning into a fight.

"I will," Timothy said.

Hana sat back. "Good."

A message notification pinged from Timothy’s phone. He did not check it.

Hana noticed.

"You are not checking," she said.

Timothy kept his eyes forward. "It can wait."

Hana stared at him like she was trying to find the hidden catch. Then she nodded once, satisfied.

A group of kids ran past chasing each other, shouting. A parent called after them, voice sharp, then softened as they slowed near the sidewalk. A street vendor pushed a cart with a bell that rang once every few steps.

Timothy sat still, hands resting on his knees, listening to the city move without needing him.

Hana stood first.

"We should go," she said. "Before you start behaving like a normal person and scare everyone."

Timothy stood with her. They walked back toward the tower, not rushing. Not talking about schedules. Not talking about leaks.

As they crossed a street, Hana looked at him.

"You will ruin this day if you go back upstairs," she said.

Timothy looked at the TG Tower glass reflecting the sky. Then he turned away from it.

"Then we do not go back upstairs," he said.

Hana’s mouth twitched like she wanted to smile but refused to give him the satisfaction. She just nodded once and kept walking, her steps steady, keys clinking softly with the small wrench against the metal ring as they moved into the afternoon.