Forty One
Christian found Callen exactly where he expected him to find him, half-buried in parchment. “I haven’t seen you except in passing in over two weeks,” Christian said, leaning against the doorframe of his brother’s office. “What have you been doing, sleeping under your desk?” “I’ve been here,” Callen muttered without looking up. He gestured vaguely at the chaos around him. The room was worse than Christian had imagined. Ledgers and reports were stacked in unstable towers; open folios sprawled across every flat surface, bristling with loose notes and bookmarks. Crates filled with documents crowded the floor, turning the office into a maze of paper. His brother’s hair usually frustratingly neat, was a complete wreck. Dark strands stuck out at odd angles where Callen had dragged his finger
- Writer
