Chapter 96 Morning Light

• Gideon downed the last of his drink, the burn of whiskey doing little to ease the tension coiled in his chest. The empty glass hit the desk with a dull thud, and he rose with movements that felt heavier than they should. Sleep beckoned—or at least the pretense of rest beside Bobby's warm body, even if his mind refused to quiet.
• His hand reached for the lamp when knuckles rapped against the door. Sharp. Deliberate. Too purposeful for the late hour.
• Gideon frowned, abandoning the lamp to cross the office. Everyone should have retired by now, seeking whatever rest they could find before morning demands resumed. He gripped the handle and pulled the door open, expecting Nixon with some urgent security matter or perhaps Emrys returning with additional intelligence.