Arthur's office. Arthur's things.
He moved to the window. Looked out. Nothing interesting. Moved to the other side of the desk. The pen cup—colors sorted, then height. The calculator, parallel to the desk edge. A folder stack so precise it looked like it had been measured.
Does he use a ruler? He probably uses a ruler.
Jax's fingers hovered over the edge of the folder stack.
No.
He shoved his hands in his pockets and kept pacing.
Arthur hadn't moved. Hadn't shifted. Hadn't so much as adjusted his posture. He sat there like a man who had all the time in the world and knew it.
How. How do you do that. How do you just exist in a room and not—
He probably alphabetizes his pantry. Possibly his socks.
Arthur sat.
The door opened.
Killian appeared in the doorway. Still in his suit from the board meeting, tie loosened, the exhaustion of four hours of financial projections evident in his shoulders.
Thank God.
He looked at them both. "This better not be about the group chat."
Arthur handed him the folder.
Killian opened it.
The joke was still on his face when he started reading. Then it wasn't.
Jax had assumed Killian knew. Had to know. Someone up the chain had seen nine reports filed and dismissed them. He'd assumed it went all the way up. Killian’s Authority covering for his friend.
Killian turned a page. His jaw tightened.
But this wasn't the face of a man who knew.
The hand holding the folder shifted. Grip tightening.
His eyes slowed. Moved back up a page. Stopped on a figure.
Jax watched each one land.
Killian finished reading.
He closed the folder.
Jax watched the decision land: the way Killian's posture changed.
Chad has no fucking idea.
April
[Present]
Chad was looking at Arthur like a man who'd just realized the ground wasn't solid.
