Ethan awoke slowly, his mind foggy with whisky and exhaustion. He was lying on something soft—not the director's stiff desk, but an actual mattress. Lena, Cassandra, and Hayes were all asleep beside him, covered discreetly by heavy federal-issue blankets.
Officer Jones, a stocky man with a permanently weary expression, entered the office carrying more linen. He looked up, spotted Ethan's eyes open, and gave a respectful nod.
"Good morning, sir," Jones said quietly. "I apologize if I saw anything inappropriate. I arrived for my shift and found all four of you asleep, draped over the desk, so I took the liberty of bringing in a bed from the infirmary so you could rest comfortably."
Jones was the other guard Hayes had been involved with, and they shared a quiet, professional complicity. He knew his place perfectly well; he was not stupid enough to cross Ethan, especially since he knew Hayes herself feared the prisoner.
