Page 19 of The Associate
He arrived while the sky was still a washed-out, predawn grey. The elevator chimed its soft note as he stepped out, entering that hour where the building felt only half-awake; the overhead lights dimmed to their low-energy mode, the open-plan office washed in long shadows.
His monitor greeted him with its usual dark surface. He powered it on, the sudden glow stark against the morning dimness. His fingers moved across the keyboard, pulling up the sprawling merger report that had consumed the last forty-eight hours.
He worked without a break until the sun crested the distant buildings, staining the glass with a pale gold, and people began filtering in. The atmosphere shifted subtly, transforming from a deep quiet to a gradually building noise; murmured greetings, the hiss of the espresso machine, the tapping of keyboards.
By the time the floor was fully awake, Samuel was already deep into the last section of his analysis. He barely looked up from the screen except to take brief, grounding breaths.
Later that morning, he and Alina stood in the kitchen, waiting for the electric kettle to boil. The room smelled faintly of burnt toast and citrus cleaner. Alina leaned against the stainless-steel counter, stirring her tea with a slow, absent-minded rhythm.
“So,” she said, tilting her head to study him. “How’s the report going?”
Samuel tightened his hands around the warm ceramic of his coffee cup. “Almost done,” he answered, his voice low. “Just need to add a few final citations.”
Alina blinked, her spoon pausing. “Already?” Her voice rose in surprise. “Did you even sleep at all the past two days?”
Samuel’s eyes dropped to a minuscule scratch on the countertop’s surface. “…Not really,” he murmured, the admission soft and slightly sheepish.
She let out a louder laugh this time, the sound warm and incredulous. “Jesus, Samuel… keep this up and you’ll be Wise’s undisputed favorite by the end of the month.”
Before Samuel could formulate a response, a new presence filled the doorway.
George.
Alina straightened slightly and offered a polite, “Morning.”
He answered with a curt nod and moved past them toward the expensive coffee machine, his attention already elsewhere.
Samuel rolled his eyes lightly at her teasing, a small, unguarded gesture that slipped out before he could stop it. She grinned and lifted her mug in a tiny, mock toast.
“Well, good luck finishing the beast,” she said, tapping him lightly on the arm with the back of her hand. “Try not to collapse before you hit ‘send.’”
“Thanks,” he replied quietly, the word barely audible.
And then she was gone; tea in hand, her cheerful energy retreating down the hall and leaving the kitchen’s air noticeably thinner, colder, in her absence.
Samuel reached for his own tea, his fingers curling carefully around it as he turned to head for the doorway.
He’d taken no more than two steps toward the hall before the George blocked his path.
The man stepped forward, his movement effortless, enough to fully occupy the doorway without appearing to make any obvious, aggressive effort. His expression was a practiced, condescending sneer; his mouth curled at one corner, his eyes cold and assessing, his posture deceptively loose in a way that felt calculated rather than genuinely relaxed.
“What do you think you’re playing at?” George asked.
The tone was quiet, almost conversational, but the predatory edge beneath the words was unmistakable.
Samuel froze. The reaction was instantaneous, a full-system lockdown. His eyes widened as he looked up at the slightly taller man, pure confusion flickering across his face before something colder and more familiar slid beneath it; something tight and instinctive, coiling in his gut.
George wasn’t a large man. They were nearly the same height and build. But the contempt in his sneer, the flat, threatening stillness in his eyes; it was more than enough to send a sharp, warning pulse of alarm straight down Samuel’s spine.
His body responded before his rational mind could catch up.
His shoulders tightened, hiking upward.
His posture curled subtly inward, a protective hunch.
His hands began a fine, persistent tremble around the warm mug.
“Ex… excuse me?” he whispered, the words thin and reedy.
