It hammered against the glass walls of Laurent Enterprises, turning the city skyline into something blurred and distant. Gray clouds pressed low against the buildings, swallowing the tops of skyscrapers until the whole world felt like it was underwater.

On the sixty-seventh floor, the air smelled like cedar and cold coffee. The carpet was dark enough to hide stains. The silence was heavy enough to swallow sound.

You stepped off the elevator with a folder pressed against your chest and a name badge still warm from the laminator.

Human Resources had warned you three times.

The receptionist — a woman with sharp cheekbones and sharper eyes — looked up from her desk. She studied you the way someone studies a car they expect to break down.

Down the hall, a door stood slightly ajar. Inside, someone was speaking in low, measured tones. A voice that didn't need to raise to be heard.