I step out of the car, the morning sun glinting off the monolithic glass and steel of Kael Holdings.
The building shines, a monument of cold, perfect success—the fruit of Zyren Kael's day-and-night, soul-consuming hard work. The country's number one.
I shrug my coat into place, a familiar, heavy weight.
The guard bows, murmurs a greeting, and sweeps the towering glass door open. I step through, my posture instinctively straightening, a polished, public smile already fixed on my lips.
Deniz is there, a constant, calming presence in the lobby's controlled chaos. He walks toward me, his steps measured.
"Good morning, sir."
My gaze travels over him, the automatic smile faltering for a fraction of a second. "Good morning." My eyes linger. His face looks… tired. The usual sharp, professional clarity is softened by shadows under his eyes, a subtle tension in his jaw.
Is he alright?
He blinks, catching my extended stare, a flicker of confusion crossing his features.
