The silence that followed the closing of the door did not settle. It tightened.It drew inward, compressing the space around Mark in a way that was not physical, not something measured in distance or confinement, but something far more insidious, something that existed in the narrowing of options, in the slow, deliberate constriction of control that had once been absolute and was now, piece by piece, being challenged.Mark did not move immediately.He remained seated at the table, his posture unchanged, his hands still loosely folded before him, though the stillness was no longer passive, no longer the quiet waiting of a man with time to spare, but something more deliberate, more focused, more dangerous in its restraint.Because now, there was pressure. And pressure did not frighten him. It clarified.His mind moved quickly, not in panic, not in scattered reaction, but in sharp, structured lines of thought, dissecting the information he had just received, isolating what mattered, disc
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