"You know Gerald personally," Bruce said. It wasn't a question; it was a probe, a way to see if Mike's interest in the building was a calculated move or a personal vendetta.
"I live there," Mike replied, his voice flat and unapologetic. "Two weeks now."
Bruce leaned back, his eyes narrowing as he did the mental math.
"Two weeks," he repeated, the words heavy with the realization of how fast the ground had shifted beneath his feet. "Two weeks ago, you were a ghost."
"A nonentity, but now... you're sitting in my inner sanctum while my second in command is slumped near the equipment table because you decided to make a point."
"Dax isn't unconscious," Mike corrected, a hint of a cocky grin flashing in his eyes. "He's embarrassed, and there's a massive difference."
"From where I'm sitting, they look the same," Bruce said.
