By Friday night, the office is nearly empty.

The hum of the fluorescent lights feels too loud, the clock on the wall ticking out a cruel rhythm. Everyone else has gone home hours ago, but I’m still here, surrounded by coffee cups, open tabs, and printouts.

The Portland deck glares at me from my screen, almost done. Almost.

I rub my temples and squint at the last slide. My brain’s fried, my hand aches from typing, but I can’t stop. Not when Danny’s voice keeps replaying in my ...