(Sean's POV)
The house is dark when I get home.
I leave the lights off in the hallway. My arm throbs. The bandage is tight — Rebecca's work, careful, the kind of neat that comes from someone who knows what they're doing. I hold the arm against my chest and go to my office.
The desk is the way I left it this morning. Laptop. Papers. Lamp tilted too far left.
No envelope.
I frown. Move papers. Open the drawer. Pens. A phone charger. A business card from someone I don't remember meeting. No envelope.
I check under the papers. Behind the laptop.
Nothing.
I've walked past this desk every day for days telling myself the envelope can wait. I've set things on top of it. Moved it to the corner. Let it migrate toward the edge. I've assumed every time I didn't see it that it was simply under
