Leo doesn't sleep.
He sits in the control room until the night shift rotates out and the dawn crew filters in, bleary-eyed and yawning, carrying paper cups of bad coffee and murmuring about the weather.
He watches them come and go like they're moving through water.
The image is still on his screen, minimized but not closed. He can feel it there, burning a hole through the pixels.
Damian's hand on the back of Ava's neck.
Ava's fingers curled in his shirt.
He minimizes it every time someone passes the glass. Opens it again when they're gone.
By six a.m., he's made a decision.
It's not the smart one. Not the one Cass would endorse.
The only one his chest will allow.
He showers in the staff locker room, changes into a clean shirt from his go-bag, and heads upstairs.
The penthouse is
