Both times Reyes had received a written acknowledgement within 48 hours and a follow-up conversation within the week. She had stopped looking at Sloan with the weary reservation that had characterized the first months and started looking at her the way you look at a situation you have decided to provisionally trust. Provisional trust was the most any of them owed her. Sloan understood that and didn't push for more. Daniel Park's commute reimbursement had come through in the second quarter along with three other employees in similar situations as part of a transportation equity review Sloan had commissioned after the conversation in the breakroom.
It wasn't large money relative to the company's operating budget. The fact that it hadn't existed before was still something she carried. The board reviewed the first year safety metrics in June and the numbers were good enough that even Aldrich stopped finding reasons to question the direction. Carver said the industry was watching Asterion's revised protocols with interest, which meant some version of what they were doing would eventually be borrowed by larger carriers and received less credit than it deserved, which was how the industry had always worked and which [clears throat] Sloan had mostly made peace with. What mattered was the building.
What mattered was whether the people inside it felt differently about showing up. She thought they did. She wasn't certain because certainty about things that lived in people's interior states was not available to her. And she had learned to distrust the impulse to claim it. But she thought so.
The break room had a different temperature to it than it had in the first months. Not warmer exactly, more like a room where the pressure had equalized, where things didn't need to be managed before they could be said. The conversation about the permanent role happened in September, almost exactly one year after the morning in the hangar on a Wednesday afternoon when the light through the engineering bay windows was the particular amber of early fall and Caleb was reviewing a draft amendment to the fault library with a red pen that he used with the same precision he used on everything. Sloan had been sitting across the workbench from him, going through a quarterly operation summary for 20 minutes, and neither of them had said much because neither of them needed to fill space with talk, which was something she had come to appreciate about him as a working presence. There was not a silence that required management.
He was just there doing the work until there was something to say. "I want to ask you something, and I want you to think about it before you answer," she said. He looked up from the document. You said that to me once before. It worked.
She said a small shift in his expression. The thing that wasn't quite a smile. Okay. Chief technical officer. She said it's a created position.
There's no existing person to displace and no political situation to navigate. The scope would be maintenance protocol, system safety review, and technical advisory to engineering leadership. The title matters less to me than what comes with it, which is that your name is on the documents, the real documents, not on page four of the technical log. He was quiet. The hours are negotiable, she continued.