The office building was all glass and steel, impersonal. The lobby directory listed ‘Vale & Associates, 12th Floor’ with no further description. The elevator ride was silent, save for the hum of machinery and the drip of your coat onto the polished floor.

The twelfth floor was quiet, almost eerily so. A single door at the end of the hall stood ajar. Inside, the office was sparsely furnished—a desk, two chairs, a filing cabinet. No personal effects. No nameplate.

A man stood at the window, his back to the door, watching the rain streak the glass. He was tall, his posture rigid even in stillness. He didn’t turn when you entered.