The door closed behind me with the kind of finality that has nothing to do with sound and everything to do with consequence.

Soren’s office—a quiet rectangle of black glass and city light—felt like the edge of a map I’d been taught to avoid. He wasn’t at his desk; he stood by the window, sleeves rolled, coat folded over the back of a chair. When he turned, the room rearranged itself around him. Not because of posture or charm, but because he looked at me as if names and titles had ...