I adjusted the microphone. The booth felt smaller tonight, the walls closer. Beyond the thin partition, I could hear Janet wrapping up a call in the adjacent station, her voice bright with manufactured cheer.

“That’s right, sweetie. Santa knows you’ve been very good this year. Sleep tight now.” A pause. “You too, Mom. Merry Christmas.”

The line clicked off. Janet poked her head around the partition, her round face framed by the reflective garland someone had stapled to the divider. “Heading out, Owen. You good here?”

“All quiet,” I said, glancing at the phone that hadn’t rung in forty minutes.

“Go home. Kiss your kids.”