Scott had learned, over the years, that irritation rarely announced itself loudly at first.
It arrived quietl and btly. A tightening behind the eyes. A faint pressure in the chest. A sense that something carefully structured, meticulously controlled had shifted out of alignment.
He felt it now.
He sat behind his desk, his jacket draped neatly over the back of his chair, his sleeves rolled just enough to suggest productivity rather than relaxation. The office around him reflected that same balance.
Scott thrived on order.
That was why Terry's knock already annoyed him.
"Come in," Scott said, without lifting his gaze from the document on his screen.
The door opened softly. Terry stepped inside, quiet as always, his tablet tucked against his chest. He closed the door behind him with deliberate care.
Scott finished the sentence he was reading, then scrolled once more. Only then did he look up.
Terry was standing too still.
Scott exhaled slowly. "What is it?"
