I found Sterling in his study, a silhouette against the floor-to-ceiling window, the city lights a glittering tapestry at his feet. Jacket gone, he held a glass of whiskey, the amber liquid catching the light. He didn’t turn when I entered. The whisper of the door was enough.
"I thought we agreed the lines were gone," he said, his voice a low rumble against the glass. "You don't need to knock."
"This isn't a social call." My voice was tight, stripped of everything but urgency. I bypassed the space between us, placing my tablet on his desk. The article glowed, a venomous beacon in the dim room. "You need to see this."
He turned, slowly, his eyes already guarded. His gaze dropped to the screen, scanning the headline. I saw his jaw clench, a single, hard knot of muscle. That was the only s
