The morning was too quiet.
Not peaceful — the kind of quiet that followed a storm that wasn't finished yet.
Frank stood in the kitchen, his movements mechanical, deliberate. Coffee in the pot. Two mugs on the counter. The file from yesterday's case lay open in front of him, though his eyes weren't really reading. Every motion had purpose — every pause was a test.
Across the table, Zoey tried to mirror calm. She hummed faintly while stirring sugar into her cup, but her hands trembled. Her eyes flicked to him every few seconds — searching for warmth, forgiveness, something.
Frank didn't give her any.
He sat, flipped a page, and finally said, "I'll head to the company early today. Pre-orientation checks."
Zoey tried to sound casual. "You sure you don't need help?"
He sipped his coffee, gaze never leaving the file. "Already got enough eyes watching."
That earned him a half-hearted smirk. "You're really not letting this paranoia go, huh?"
