-POV Derby
The heavy glass door of the private archive room rattled slightly as Jordan pushed his way inside, completely ignoring the strict corporate security protocol he had personally signed into effect last quarter. He didn't turn on the secondary overhead rows, leaving us stranded in the dim, narrow aisle between the high-density metal filing racks, where the cool air smelled heavily of old cardboard, high-grade bond paper, and high-density printer toner. The dim light filtering through the small frosted pane on the door only managed to illuminate the sharp, rigid angles of his shoulders, casting a long, imposing shadow across the row of financial ledgers I had spent the last twenty minutes trying to sort.
He didn't waste time with a professional cover story or an excuse about missi
