The office was quiet except for the low hum of the city pressing against the windows. The air carried weight; order, control, my control. Papers were aligned on the desk, whiskey untouched on the tray, shadows drawn long by the desk lamp. I sat at the center of it all, back straight, phone pressed to my ear like a blade against someone’s throat. My tie was loosened, the first two buttons of my shirt undone, and my hair was slightly ruffled from running a hand through it too many times. It wasn’t how I appeared in public, but this was private, and it betrayed a crack in my armor.
“I don’t care if she’s with Ms. Kent,” I said, voice clipped, precise. “You keep eyes on her. If she moves, if she breathes out of line, I want to know.”
The head of security faltered on the other end, tone apolo
