*Runze's POV*
By eight thirty in the morning, I have already checked the same things three times. The lights are working, the espresso machine is warmed up, and the presentation screen displays the main site elevation at the correct scale. The drafting tables are clean, the chairs are arranged properly, and the framed copy of my professional certification hangs straight on the wall instead of tilting slightly to the left like it did yesterday.
I stand in the middle of the studio and stare at the frame for another few seconds before walking over to nudge the edge anyway. It barely moves, but it feels better once I touch it.
Above the entrance frame, the brushed-steel letters sit flush against the glass panel.
**R.Z**
I still have moments when looking at those two letters feels slightly surreal. Not because I dislike them, but because they belong entirely to me.
