The morning light filtered weakly through the blinds of Dwayne's office, cutting across the dark wood and polished steel like a warning. He groaned, pressing his forehead against the cool surface of his desk as if it could somehow anchor him to reality. The bourbon from the night before burned faintly in his veins, a lingering warmth that had nothing to do with comfort.
"Damn it," he muttered under his breath. His reflection in the window showed a man exhausted, frustrated, and far too aware of the fact that he had let his emotions slip in ways no Knight ever should.
