Chapter 10 #2
Quinn’s mouth curved faintly. “I can be collaborative, Avery,” she said, her tone smooth, almost teasing without crossing the line.
Avery held her gaze a fraction longer than necessary. “I’d hope so,” she replied.
A soft knock interrupted them before the moment could stretch any further. Gabby appeared in the doorway, tablet tucked against her side.
“Oh,” Gabby said lightly, glancing between them. “Didn’t realize you were already in here.”
“Just arrived,” Quinn said, rising smoothly from her chair and adjusting her jacket.
“Well,” Gabby said, clearly aware of the air in the room but choosing not to comment, “they’re ready for us in the boardroom.”
Avery stood and reached for her notebook. “Let’s go,” she said, stepping toward the door.
As they moved into the hallway, Quinn fell into step beside her, close but not touching. The space between them felt deliberate. Professional. Controlled. And just barely holding.
The conference room was already buzzing when Avery and Quinn walked in. Dev and Melissa from The Loop Collective were mid-conversation with Gabby. Dev wore dark jeans and a blazer scattered with enamel pins. Melissa stood in a sharp forest-green jumpsuit, posture steady and self-assured.
A tablet glowed in the center of the table beside a printed report labeled Q2 Community Safety Audit.
Gabby rose first. “Everyone, this is Quinn Sinclare from Halo. She’s observing today while she completes her review.”
Quinn stepped forward and extended her hand. “It’s good to meet you.”
“Likewise,” Dev said, shaking it. “I’m Dev. They/them. I handle moderation policy and community training.”
“And I’m Melissa,” the woman in green added with a warm smile. “Founder.”
“Thank you for having me,” Quinn replied as she took the seat beside Avery.
Avery gave a small nod, then focused on the table before she could focus on Quinn.
Gabby began. “We’ll keep this tight. This quarter focused on safety trends, flagged behaviors, and areas we’re strengthening before the next feature rollout.”
Dev tapped the tablet. “We track patterns in user reports,” they explained. “Not just how many, but what kind. Repeat behavior. Where harm clusters. We work with Lilith’s team to adjust policy and training before small issues become bigger ones.”
Melissa leaned forward slightly. “And we audit the user experience. Consent prompts. Reporting flow. Whether users feel safe after something goes wrong. Trust isn’t automatic. It’s maintained.”
Avery watched Quinn from the corner of her eye.
Quinn wasn’t interrupting. She wasn’t performing. She was listening. Writing notes. Her expression attentive without being intrusive.
“How do you measure whether users feel heard after they report something?” Quinn asked, her voice even.
“Follow-up surveys,” Melissa answered. “And retention patterns. If someone reports harm and disappears, that’s a signal.”
“And your biggest challenge right now?” Quinn asked.
Dev leaned back slightly. “Balancing automation with nuance. AI can flag patterns, but people still need people.”
Quinn nodded once, her pen moving again.
Avery told herself she didn’t care that Quinn was asking smart questions. She didn’t care that Dev and Melissa seemed to respect her tone. She didn’t care that Quinn wasn’t trying to dominate the room.
The conversation moved briskly from flagged trends to upcoming audits and community training updates. Less numbers. More philosophy. Protecting users. Designing systems that didn’t just react to harm but reduced it.
Near the end of the meeting, Melissa turned fully toward Quinn.
“If a company like Halo were to acquire Lilith,” she said calmly, “what happens to us?”
The air shifted.
Quinn didn’t hesitate. She set her pen down before answering.
“If that ever happened,” she said carefully, “my position would be to continue this partnership. And likely expand it.”
Dev tilted their head. “You don’t think your internal teams would replace us?”
Quinn held their gaze. “I don’t think we’d be qualified to,” she replied. “You specialize in queer safety in ways we don’t. It would be shortsighted to cut that off.”
Melissa studied her for a beat before giving a small nod. “That’s a good answer.”
“It’s an honest one,” Quinn said.
Avery felt something in her chest loosen before she could stop it. She had expected deflection. Corporate hedging. Not that.
Gabby closed her tablet. “Alright. I think that covers everything for today. We’ll follow up next week.”
Chairs shifted. Papers gathered.
As Dev and Melissa packed up, Melissa paused beside Avery. “You’ve built something worth protecting,” she said quietly.
“I know,” Avery replied.
Across the table, Quinn adjusted her sleeve. When Avery’s eyes lifted and met hers, there was no smile there. Just that steady, unreadable focus.
And something underneath it that made Avery look away first.
When the meeting ended, people began to gather their things. Quinn stood, offered another handshake, and nodded respectfully to Dev and Melissa before they left.
The room emptied in a slow shuffle of chairs and thank-yous. When the door clicked shut behind Dev and Melissa, the hum of the office faded to a low, distant thrum. Avery stood there with her notebook in hand, feeling the edge of it press into her palm. She hadn’t expected to feel relieved.
Quinn had listened. Not just nodded along. Actually listened. Asked the right questions. Didn’t posture. Didn’t try to paper over nuance with a buzzword. And when Melissa pressed her on the partnership, the answer hadn’t been a dodge.
Avery set the notebook on the table. “You handled that well,” she said, careful and neutral. “Thank you.”
Quinn slid her pen into her leather folio. “It mattered to you,” she said simply. “So it mattered to me.”
Something warm and inconvenient tugged at Avery’s chest anyway. She ignored it. “Good,” she said. “Because that partnership is non-negotiable.”
“I heard you,” Quinn replied no argument, no edge.
Silence settled steadily, not awkward. Outside the glass, someone laughed by the espresso machine. In here, the air felt softer than it had any right to be.
Quinn glanced up. “Would you…” Quinn started. She caught herself, recalibrated. “Do you have dinner plans tonight?”
Avery’s brow lifted. “Are we talking business or… dinner?”
“Dinner,” Quinn said. “No pitch deck. No spreadsheets. Just food.” A beat, then the faintest curve of a mouth that had no business looking that dangerous in a boardroom. “And conversation. If you want it.”
Every sensible part of Avery told her no. Keep it clean. Keep it easy.
She thought of the meeting. Of Quinn’s restraint. Of the way her pulse had popped once, hard, when Quinn said funded. Possibly expanded.
“Okay,” Avery said. “Dinner.”
A flicker crossed Quinn’s face—quick, contained. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”
“Text me the place,” Avery said, aiming for blasé and landing just shy of breathless.
“I will.” Quinn gathered her things, then paused at the door. “Thank you for inviting me today.”
Avery tilted her head. “Don’t make me regret it.”
“I’ll do my best,” Quinn said, and was gone.
Avery stood alone for a beat longer, staring at the faint reflection of herself in the glass. Lipstick still perfect, pulse not nearly as steady as she wanted it to be.
She closed her notebook, slid the pen into the spiral, and told herself it was just dinner.
Her body didn’t believe her. Her heart, annoyingly, disagreed.
* * *