The report in front of him blurred for the third time before Zane finally pushed it aside and admitted that work was no longer possible tonight. He leaned back in his chair and stared at the quiet pool of lamplight on the desk, letting the useless numbers fade from his mind. The pages lay abandoned where he had left them, neat and orderly in a way that felt faintly mocking.
His office remained dim except for the warm circle of light cast by the single lamp. The limited lighting had been deliberate because full brightness required a version of himself he could not summon. In the half shadow he did not have to pretend that everything was under control. The quiet space carried the faint scent of leather and paper and the cooled trace of espresso he had poured hours earlier and never touched. Outside the tall windows rain slid steadily down the glass in thin wavering lines that fractured the city lights into trembling streaks of gold and red.
