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66: After Hours 

Auteur: A.H. Hassan
last update Dernière mise à jour: 2026-02-25 02:48:05

Vorian's POV

The next morning comes with clear sunlight through my office windows. I sit behind my desk with coffee steaming in my hand. It tastes strong and bitter. Zephyr stands near the window, he looks at the city below. Silas sits on the couch with his legs stretched out. Jake stands by the door, his hands in his pockets. The room feels small with four of us inside.

I set the cup down. The sound is loud in the quiet. “We continue our work here to avoid suspicion.” I say. “We come to the o
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  • Bound By The Desk    68: Late Calls 

    Selene's POV I sit cross-legged on my bed. The room is dark except for the small lamp on the nightstand. Soft yellow light falls on the blanket and my phone. The screen shows Silas’s name. I have called twice already but there was no answer. My thumb hovers over the call button again. I bite my lip. For the third time, I press the dial button.It rings. Not just once or twice. Not even three times. Four. My thumb hovers over the end button. I almost hang up, thinking he is asleep or too busy to talk. Then his voice finally comes through. It sounds so tired and rough, like gravel under tires, heavy with exhaustion that makes my chest ache a little. “Hey,” he says again, quieter this time, as if even speaking takes effort. “Sorry. I saw the calls earlier. Just… got caught up in something.”I let out a breath I did not know I was holding. My chest felt tight until that moment. “You sound dead,” I say. My voice comes out soft, worried. “Are you okay?” I ask again, even though I already

  • Bound By The Desk    67: No Clock 

    Zephyr's POVI have not slept in my own bed in one week. My room at my parents’ house stays empty. The quilt Mom folded last time I was there still lies flat. The pillow has no dent. The desk lamp stays off. I live here now; in the warehouse, in Vorian’s office, in the hours between normal work and secret work.Morning begins at NexusVibe. I sit at my desk outside Vorian’s office where I answer emails, schedule meetings and bring him black coffee at 7:30 sharp. I smile at people who walk past, act like everything is normal. No one knows I run on four hours of sleep. No one knows I leave at six, drive to the west side warehouse, and start the real work.The warehouse is our second home. White walls, long metal tables, server racks hum low in the back while the air conditioners keep the room cold. Sleeping bags roll out on the concrete floor, pizza boxes stack in the corner and empty coffee cups line the edges. The smell is always the same: pepperoni grease, burnt coffee, warm electron

  • Bound By The Desk    66: After Hours 

    Vorian's POV The next morning comes with clear sunlight through my office windows. I sit behind my desk with coffee steaming in my hand. It tastes strong and bitter. Zephyr stands near the window, he looks at the city below. Silas sits on the couch with his legs stretched out. Jake stands by the door, his hands in his pockets. The room feels small with four of us inside.I set the cup down. The sound is loud in the quiet. “We continue our work here to avoid suspicion.” I say. “We come to the office every day, we attend meetings, we answer emails. We look busy.”Silas nods. “And Aegis?” he asks.“Aegis moves off-site,” I say. “After hours only. And as we know, no one knows about it. No board. No staff. Just us four.”Zephyr turns from the window. His eyes meet mine. “Where?” he asks.“Warehouse on the west side,” I say. “I bought it two years ago. No name on it. No paper trail. It is secure.”Jake speaks. “Internet?” he asks.“Dedicated line,” I say. “Encrypted. Jake, you set the fire

  • Bound By The Desk    65: Home Tonight

    Zephyr's POVI stand in Vorian’s office, the room feels big and quiet and the city lights shine through the tall windows. Vorian sits in his chair with my phone resting on the desk. He stares at it. He has called his mother three times but there was no answer. His fingers tap the wood slowly. His face looks tired and worried.I watch him, my heart hurts for him. This is not like Vorian, he always stays calm. He always knows what to do but tonight he looks lost.I walk to him and stand in front of his desk. “It is late,” I say. My voice is soft. “Your mother is not young, she sleeps early, maybe she turned her phone off.”He looks up. His eyes is dark. “She always answers,” he says. “Even at night.”I nod. “Maybe she is really tired,” I say. “From the day's activities or from everything.”He rubs his face. “I need to know,” he says. “I need to hear her say it.”I sigh, I really want to knock his head but it is useless, as much as I want to yell at him, I just have to be the bigger pers

  • Bound By The Desk    64: Walls Up 

    Vorian's POV Despite being low, the lights feel harsh on my eyes. Zephyr's phone screen shows the uncropped photo in full detail. My father stands in the middle, his arm rests around my mother’s shoulders. His other hand touches Holt’s arm. All three laughed with their glasses being raised high. The caption below reads: Chicago Tech Charity Gala; dated three years ago. The photographer’s old Instagram post stands as proof.Zephyr stands beside me, his hand rests on my lower back. His hands are warm and steady.I stare at my father’s face. He looks younger and healthier, the cancer had not taken hold yet. His smile is wide and open, the kind he gave when everything felt right. I feel my throat tighten.“He was there,” I say. My voice comes out low. Rough. “With Holt.”Zephyr’s hand presses a little harder. “It was a business toast,” he says. His tone is gentle. “Nothing more. Look at the caption. Tech leaders celebrate record donations. Everyone smiled that night.”I nod once. “I know

  • Bound By The Desk    63: The Third Hand

    Zephyr's POVThe boardroom empties slowly; chairs scrape against the floor, board members stand one by one. They gather papers and briefcases; some look at Vorian, some look away but no one speaks to us. Miles leaves last, he bends to pick up his folder. The red-ink envelope stays on the table, he does not touch it. He walks out without a word and the door closes behind him with a soft thud.Vorian, Silas, and I stay seated. We wait until the footsteps fade, until the hallway falls quiet. Silas reaches forward and picks up the envelope with a napkin from his pocket carefully like it might burn.It is funny that he did not pick it up with his hands but with a napkin as if the envelope was contaminated or maybe he does not want his DNA on it.“It fell from his folder,” I say. My voice is low. “Accidental.”Silas turns it over. The claw-mark stares back; same paper and same red ink. “He did not even try to hide it,” he says.Vorian’s eyes stay on the envelope. “He wanted us to see,” he s

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