Vance's POV

The afternoon meeting was a study in controlled tedium. Numbers. Charts. More numbers. Vance sat at the head of the table, his pen moving in precise strokes across the margin of his notes. He'd learned to find comfort in the monotony of data—it was clean, predictable, and never betrayed you.

Nerissa was across the table. He didn't need to look at her to know she was struggling. He could feel it in the way the air in the room had shifted. She'd been distracted all afternoon. Her eyes kept drifting, her focus slipping. He'd noticed. Of course he'd noticed.

She'd been doing that since the park. Since Zane....