"He dropped this. On the plane. It was by the wall. I found it after you'd gone."
Marcus crossed the floor slowly and took the envelope and slid the drawing halfway out, and she watched his face change when he saw what it was.
"Flight four," he said. "He's been looking for this. He thought he left it in Iowa. He was going to have to draw it again tonight from memory." He slid it back in. "Thank you."
"I didn't come to be thanked."
"No. I didn't figure you did." He looked at her. "So what did you come for?"
She had rehearsed this in the taxi. She had a version that was dignified and a version that was sincere and a version that admitted fault while carefully not over-admitting it, the kind her company's lawyers would have approved. She had none of them now.
"I came to tell you I'm sorry," she said. "That's all. I'm not asking you to say it's all right, because it isn't. I'm not going to tell you I was tired or stressed or didn't understand, because I did understand. I knew exactly what I was doing. I've known exactly what that sound is my entire life." She stopped. "I wanted you to know that I know. That's all I came for. I'll go."
She turned toward the elevators.
"Wait," Marcus said.
She waited.
He was holding the envelope against his chest the way Theo held his folder. He looked very tired, and very big, and younger than she'd first thought. Thirty-five, maybe. Gray coming in early at his temples.
"What did you mean," he said. "You've known what that sound is your whole life."