He was at his desk by six-thirty.
Not unusual. Adrian had kept early hours since his twenties, not out of discipline — discipline was for people who needed to override themselves — but because the building was different before the rest of it arrived. Quieter. The thirty-eighth floor in the blue pre-dawn light of a Monday was a different place from the thirty-eighth floor at nine, and he had always worked better in the version of a room that asked nothing of him socially. He made his own coffee. He stood at the window for seven minutes with it and looked at the city assembling itself below and thought about what he needed to do and in what order he needed to do it.
There was quite a lot.
He had spent Sunday making calls he didn't log and reviewing documents he kept on a private server th
