MACEY

Zinna was glaring daggers at us the moment we stepped through the door. Her eyes were sharp, her posture stiff—like she’d been standing there rehearsing this exact confrontation. Great. Thursday just got worse.

“Why in God’s name were you late, Carter?” she snapped, her voice crisp enough to slice through glass.

Oh, we were back to surnames. Wonderful. Always a good sign when your boss starts addressing you like a misbehaving intern instead of a functioning adult.

I ...