JACK
The coffee’s hotter than usual this morning. I don’t ask why. Harrison always makes it strong, but when it’s bordering on nuclear, it usually means he didn’t sleep—or he’s thinking too hard and needed something to burn the thoughts off.
For me, the first burn of the morning is the only kind I trust anymore. Wakes me up better than alarms or news alerts. Better than guilt, even.
He hands me a mug without a word and sinks into the chair across from my desk, stretching out like he owns the place. One ankle propped on his knee, mug in one hand, the other resting on the armrest like a man waiting for the next fire.
I take a sip and almost cough. “You trying to kill me?”
“You’re awake now, aren’t you?”
“Barely.”
“Then it’s working.”
It’s early. The kind of early where the hallways o
