"Aren't you just full of flattery today," he quips, his eyes flickering around the room, taking stock of whatever reporters might be lingering. He'd changed out of uniform in his office, donning a dull, slightly wrinkled gray suit in an effort to be less conspicuous. It's a ploy he's used before on evenings he hasn't wanted to be bothered--he recognizes a few familiar faces, but none seem to notice him now that he's in something other than bright white.

He doesn't waste time before leading Emily to the door, then out onto the street. Rather than heading to the lot where some of the other employees keep their cars, he takes her down to a train stop, walking up the ramp to the platform. A small crowd is already there--businesspeople talking on phones, women festooned with flowers and sequins out for a night on the town. It's a large enough group that when the train arrives, he and Emily fail to get a seat, crammed together in a haze of perfume and chatter.

Fortunately, the ride is brief, his hand finding her arm to help her step off as they reach his stop. It's still bright out, skyscrapers' glittering lights competing with the gold glow of the sun, and contrary to her suspicions he doesn't take her on some winding route, walking two blocks down to one of the looming buildings. The lobby is well-decorated, plush chairs and glass-topped tables resting beneath a spiral-shaped chandelier, soft music floating from somewhere near the ceiling. He makes his way to the elevators, leaning over a bit to scan his iris, and a swift ride takes them to a corridor a few floors up.

At the door to one of the apartments he stops, withdrawing and unfolding something from his pocket--a portable receiver, meant for detecting surveillance devices. He almost manages to look apologetic.

"Just humor me for a second."