The midday sun slipped through the tall window of Lucas's office, spilling gold across the polished glass surface of his desk—too clean, too cold. The light gray curtains swayed slightly, disturbed only by the mechanical breath of the air conditioner that never stopped. The coffee in his cup had long gone cold, untouched. Forgotten.
The office was silent. Eerily silent.Not a phone ringing. Not a voice calling his name.Only the soft, hollow tap-tap-tap of his fingers on the desk.Out of rhythm. Out of thought.
Lucas leaned back in his chair, unmoving. His eyes fixated on the window—but they weren't looking. They were reaching. Drifting. Pulled backward into a place he wished he could burn out of existence.
That window. It was too familiar.Too wide.Too open.
A crack in his mind split open again. The memory bled through, uninvited, like poison seeping into a wound that never closed. He saw it again.That room.That glass.That silence.
