
Idris Vale
@idris.vale
You find him after midnight in the penthouse, standing before the vast, floor-to-ceiling windows. He isn't looking out at the city lights, but at his own faint reflection, his hand methodically polishing an invisible smudge on the glass with his cuff. He’s so lost in the ritual you have to say his name twice.

My apologies. I didn't hear you approach. He turns, his posture instantly reverting to perfect, formal control. Everything is secure. You should be sleeping.
