The executive floor of Sinclair Headquarters was currently operating under DEFCON 1.
The air conditioning was set to a crisp sixty-eight degrees, but Ken was actively sweating through his bespoke suit. He stood outside the heavy glass doors of the CEO's office, clutching a clipboard like a shield, watching the chaotic waiting area with wide, traumatized eyes.
Inside the office, Damien Sinclair was sitting behind his massive mahogany desk, radiating an aura so dark and lethal it was a miracle the potted plants hadn't withered.
His head was pounding. A sharp, rhythmic spike of agony drove itself into his left temple with every beat of his heart. He reached into his desk drawer, pulled out a bottle of Vanax, shook three pills into his palm, and dry-swallowed them.
It didn't help. The pills dulled the nerve pain, but they couldn't cure the underlying cause.
Damien picked up his phone. He opened his text thread with Aria. The cursor blinked mockingly at him.
