The overcast sky hung low over the office's backyard, casting somber shadows among the frangipani trees that were beginning to shed their blossoms. It hadn't rained yet, but the air felt damp and oppressive.
Victoria sat alone on a long wooden bench, her back to the glass building that reflected New York's gray sky. Her laptop was closed on her lap, her arms wrapped around her as if her body could be a blanket against the chaos consuming her mind.
The footsteps were soft—almost tentative. But familiar.
"Evan," she murmured without turning.
The man paused beside the bench. His face looked slightly thinner than the last time they had spoken. His suit was still neat, but his eyes looked tired.
"Are you okay?" Evan tried to make small talk.
"What's okay? I'm fine," Victoria said.
"About
