ARES
Monday morning, we're all in the conference room for our weekly meeting.
Harvey looks like death. Marco's got that brittle control that means he's one wrong word away from snapping and I feel like I haven't slept properly in a week because I haven't.
The conference room is too bright, the morning sun streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows and making my eyes ache. My coffee tastes like ash. Everything feels off-kilter, like the world has tilted slightly on its axis and I'm the only one who's noticed.
Except I'm not the only one. I can see it in the tension in Harvey's shoulders, the tight line of Marco's jaw. We're all barely holding it together, and we all know it. We just won't admit it.
"Singapore's out," Harvey says without preamble, tossing a folder onto the conferenc
