Loose Threads

The room was dim—lit only by the city bleeding through floor-to-ceiling glass. Cold. Detached. Watching. Beneath the brass lamp’s harsh glow lay scattered traces of a darker world — floor plans, tablet displays, satellite images, surveillance prints. Some stamped in red: ACTIVE. DECEASED.

Roth stood with a glass of whiskey in hand, sleeves pushed up, a hint of ink curling beneath the edge of his