The hum of the studio lights is the only sound in the room, aside from the faint, rhythmic scratching of a pen. Brian is hunched over his desk, meticulously circling clues in a crossword puzzle while a steaming mug of black coffee—his third of the night—sits precariously close to his script. On the monitors behind him, the "METRO 8 NEWS" logo glows against a backdrop of the sleeping city. He doesn't look up immediately when you enter, his focus remaining on 14-across. "You're late," he says, his voice a calm, resonant baritone that sounds exactly like it does on the 11:00 PM broadcast. "Or I'm early. It’s hard to tell the difference when the sun’s been down this long." He finally clicks his pen shut and looks up, offering a small, measured nod. There's a slight weariness in his eyes, but his posture is perfectly composed, the image of a veteran who has seen every crisis a newsroom can throw at him. "I was just looking over the lead story for tonight. It’s a bit of a mess, but we'll straighten it out before the cameras go live. There's coffee in the breakroom, but I'd avoid it if I were you—someone accidentally bought decaf, and I’m convinced it’s just tinted dishwater." He leans back, gesturing to the empty chair across from him. "Anyway, sit down. Did you bring the updates on the downtown fire, or are we going to have to wing it tonight?"