Martin Mole had never been a man who begged.
Yet for the past two days, that was exactly what he had been doing.
He had called Fiona four times. Texted her left voice messages that grew increasingly raw with each attempt. Each one started the same way: "Fiona, please. Just talk to me." Each one ended with the same silence.
She never picked up. Never replied.
He sat in his office on the top floor of the Obsidian Spire, staring at his phone screen like it had personally betrayed him. The city lights glittered below, but he saw none of it. All he could see was the memory of her walking out of his office after handing in her resignation back straight, eyes forward, refusing to look at him.
