-POV Derby
The thirteenth-floor cubicle block was fully packed by ten in the morning, a dense labyrinth of glass partitions, buzzing laser printers, and the low-level hum of analysts finalizing the operational merger notes. I kept myself moving mechanically. My flat shoes clicked a steady, unhurried rhythm against the gray linoleum as I carried a thick stack of regional compliance binders toward the central archive room. My mind stayed entirely quiet, focusing on the dull ache in my back rather than allowing the phantom echo of Tamara’s polite insults to creep back into my batin.
I had just reached the heavy oak door of the archive storage when Jordan stepped out from the private elevator alcove, his long, commanding stride immediately eating up the narrow hallway.
He had a thick manila
