THE room was silent except for the low hum of the ceiling fan overhead. Oswald sat by the edge of his bed, elbows braced on his knees, eyes fixed on the rug that carried the weight of the center table, like it might whisper answers about where Orlanda had vanished to, how she had slipped through iron walls and trained eyes like smoke.

It had been two days of silence, two days of ignoring reality. Two days since he had sat behind his desk or opened a single work email. The files Nathan had stacked by his door remained untouched, he hadn’t even bothered to open the door.

This room...