Desmond Voss's office sat on the top floor, larger than Ronan's, colder somehow, though Ivy had never actually seen it herself. She only knew it from the way people talked about it in hushed voices around the office, the way even Ronan seemed to stand up straighter whenever his father's name came up in conversation. The floor itself felt different from the rest of the building, quieter, heavier, like sound had learned better than to travel too freely up here.
Ronan walked in to find his father standing at the window, back turned, the whole city spread out below him like something he owned rather than something he simply looked at. A single folder sat closed on the desk behind him, and Ronan felt a small, familiar unease settle in his stomach at the sight of it. His father rarely called me
