Something has changed.

Not the corridor. Not the coffee. Not the 2:17, which arrives every night with the reliability of a tide. Those things are exactly as they've always been.

What changed is that she heard one syllable she was never supposed to hear. And he said it. And neither of them has mentioned it. And the container that has held this thing -- the ritual, the professional register, the mutual performance of nothing-to-see-here -- is still standing.

But she can feel where it cracked.

Episode D. The bleed-through begins.

Some things, once they exist outside their original space, cannot be put back.