Apollo

I stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows of my office, the skyline sprawling beneath me like a painting I’d grown bored of. The glass reflected faint traces of my own silhouette, with hands in my pockets, tie loosened, and jaw tight.

Behind me, a familiar voice broke through the silence.

“Mr. Apollo.”

I didn’t turn immediately. I already knew who it was.

When I finally glanced over my shoulder, Austin was bowing his head slightly, standing just inside the door.

“Mr. Apollo,” he said again, straighter now.

I looked him over. The lines around his eyes were a little softer. His skin had some color again. Still, the...