Stacey walked off the elevator and onto The 47th floor, which gleamed like something out of a luxury catalog—white marbled floors, black desks like chess pieces, glass walls that could frost over at the tap of a button. It was clean. Glamorous. Cold.
He had his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jeans as usual, his black and white checkered sweater half-tucked into the waistband like he couldn't decide if he wanted to be presentable or not.
That was fine. He was half a person most days anyway.
He paused between the two large desks on the mezzanine floor and peered through the open hole in the center of the room to the floor below.
"Hey… psst. Lindan, you here?"
Lindan poked his head out from behind his cluttered white desk like a gopher surfacing for air. His eyes were red-rimmed, his hair a nest of defeat.
"Come up?"
Another head popped up beside him.
Aiden
"Oh hey,"
