The week that followed did not unfold loudly.
Dayo woke each morning before the sun had fully cleared the horizon, his mind already oriented toward a single destination. Not the studio. Not the office. Not any of the meetings that Sharon had spent the previous evening carefully rescheduling. He moved through his morning routine with a focus that felt almost mechanical shower, dress, check his phone for anything urgent, ignore everything that was not.
Sharon had taken to answering his calls before they reached him. She fielded the inquiries with practiced efficiency, her voice carrying the same calm authority she used when negotiating contracts or managing crises. Dayo was unavailable. Dayo was tied up. Dayo would reconnect when his schedule allowed.
