Richard entered his office on the top floor of Bytebull's main building, the soft hiss of the biometric scanner fading behind him. The scent of engineered leather and quiet hum of embedded ventilation systems gave the space a quiet gravity.
And sprawled like a king over the couch, as expected, was Jack—a snack bag on his chest, Call of Duty hoodie, socks half-off, staring at the ceiling like it held the meaning of life.
"Don't you have a whole wing of the building to yourself?" Richard asked, kicking the leg of the couch.
Jack didn't even look up. "Yeah. But your couch is nicer. And the coffee machine here makes hot chocolate."
Richard moved past him and activated his terminal, the holo-screen blooming into view. "You're supposed to be in the East Wing. Game division stuff."
"I am doing game division stuff," Jack said, finally sitting up. "I'm thinking."
Richard smirked. "That's a miracle."
"Shut up."
