Chapter 80
Maison de la Croix echoed with tired yawns, the soft hum of exhaustion spreading through its high-ceilinged halls as staff began rounding up the day's activities.
Conversations blended with the deliberate click of footsteps against marble, the symphony of an office finally unwinding.
From chatter to brittle jabs and faint laughter that bounced off the polished walls, the fluorescent bulbs glowed too brightly, fighting against the dusk creeping across the city.
Outside, the skyline sank under the weight of evening — the amber glow of streetlights spilling over the pavement like melted gold, while people poured out of the building in clusters, murmuring, stretching, heading home.
In all that ebb and flow sat Julian — unmoving, unresponsive, stiff behind his desk.
His screen glared blankly back at him, the cursor frozen mid-blink, mirroring his own mind. His face was unreadable, the calm mask of a man whose thoughts were spiraling too far from reach.
