Yeah, sure.

[ That's an instruction to carry Sypha upstairs, right? And not- not what it sounded like. He slides his arms underneath her, lifting the bundled speaker up against his chest. The same way he had a few weeks ago, when the floor was littered with broken glass. She stirs slightly, mumbling something in her sleep, and then settles again as he sets up the stairs. ]

Usually you don't have to have office time this late three nights running. This week's been fucking wild.