The questions didn't stop until the sky outside shifted from black to a dull, washed-out gray.
By then, Don's throat felt raw from repeating the same answers in slightly different configurations.
Times. Distances. Angles. What moved first. What fell last. Who went down where. Every response logged, cross-checked, and quietly compared against others in rooms he never saw.
He hadn't signed anything until Miss Claire had been looped in.
That had earned him a few looks.
Not hostile. Just surprised. From people unused to being slowed down. But once her confirmation came through and the documents passed whatever invisible test she ran them through, Don finally put his name down. Once. Clean. No flourish.
After that, they were herded out.
The transport waiting on the pad was a heavy-lift carrier chopper, wide-bodied with twin rotors and a rear bay designed to move people, not comfort.
