The morning sunlight slanted through tall windows, painting the breakfast table in a warm haze of gold. The air smelled faintly of chicory coffee and butter, mingled with the faint salt tang drifting in from the Gulf. Lorraine stirred her coffee absentmindedly, her mind not on the rich flavor but on the inbox message glowing on her phone screen.
Rhyan sat across from her, hair pulled into a messy bun, typing on her laptop with a grimace. “I hate this,” she muttered, tapping the screen before turning it around so Lorraine could see. “That’s the third email from the agency. They want the rough draft in two days. Two days, Raine. Or else they suspend us.”
Lorraine sighed, rubbing her temples. “I knew we were pushing it, being gone this long. But still—suspension? They make it sound like we’
