Nathan was silent, his grip on my hand tight on the walk back to the office. It all began to settle in that we’d reached the finale. My chest clenched and I leaned into him as we rode the elevator up.
He refused to let go of me. The office exploded in murmurs—hushed whispers, scared faces, and pointed fingers.
Nathan stopped mid-step and let go of my hand, reaching across my body instead and gripping my arm. It was too tight, panicked. I looked up, and in front of his office door stood a figure.
The man had slick-backed, midnight black hair, deep age lines carved into his clean-shaven face. He had to be at least sixty, if not seventy. The black suit he wore was not off the rack and probably cost a small fortune.
Nathan positioned himself in front of me, blocking me from the stranger, b
