The city at night is a sprawling galaxy of artificial stars, a breathtaking, cold beauty I watch through the wall of glass in my office.
People live, laugh, suffer—far away from this height. My mind drifts somewhere I can't quite name.
Lost in a hollow place where questions about Deniz echo without answers.
A knock slices through the silence. I don't turn. "Come in."
The door opens. A scent drifts in—sharp, tangy, faintly sweet. Lime. A young staff member steps inside, her pheromones a nervous, effective ripple in the air.
Light, but effective.
Omega pheromones.
"Sir," her voice shakes.
"I'm here to manage your schedule while Mr. Deniz is on leave."
I don't reply.
My reflection in the glass is a cold, impassive mask. I can see hers behind me in the dim light—cheeks flushed, a fine sheen of sweat on her temple.
She's nervous—no, overwhelmed.
She falters, then pushes on. "You have the business dinner with Mr. Byke at eight."
I give a single, slight nod.
