January 8, 2030
Timothy did not tell anyone he was leaving.
He kept his calendar blocked and his face blank. He signed what needed signing, forwarded what needed forwarding, and let Hana handle the rest the way she always did—quiet and hard. By Tuesday night, the building had stopped feeling like a holiday hangover and started feeling like a machine that wanted to run faster than people could maintain.
That was why the two-day break felt illegal. And on this trip, they are going lowkey. That meant no private aircrafts, things like that.
At four thirty in the morning, Timothy's driverless car rolled into the underground parking and stopped in its slot like it was arriving for work. The tower above was dark in most floors, with a few windows lit where someone had decided sleep was optional.
Hana was already waiting by the elevator bank.
