Meanwhile…
Karen sat alone and comfortable in Drogo's office.
She sunk in Drogo's chair like it belonged to her, one leg lazily crossed over the other. Her boots were planted squarely on his desk, her heels resting against the polished wood without a shred of guilt. Her phone lay in her hand, thumb scrolling aimlessly, with attention half there, half elsewhere.
The handbook and paperwork he had given her earlier were discarded on the floor beside the desk, pages splayed open like casualties of a war she had no intention of fighting. Inked rules, policies, protocols. None of them had survived her interest span.
The office itself was a disaster.
The drawers yawned open, shelves left half-empty, files lay stacked, overturned and scattered. Even the pens rolled freely across the floor. She had rifled through everything with deliberate impatience, searching without quite knowing for what.
Exhaustion clung to her bones. The day had barely begun, and already it felt long.
