January 23, 2030
The office after hours felt different from the apartment. The silence had edges. It pressed inward instead of settling around him. Fluorescent lights were off, leaving only the warm bands of recessed lighting along the ceiling and the glow of the city bleeding through the glass wall that faced the river. Traffic moved in thin lines below, headlights tracing routes that would repeat tomorrow with minimal variation.
Timothy sat alone at the conference table rather than his desk. He had pushed the chairs back to give himself space, the long surface cleared except for a laptop, a legal pad, and a glass of water he kept forgetting to drink. He had told security he would lock up himself. They didn't argue. They never did when he said things plainly.
