There was no clock in the room.

Time was unnecessary in a place that waited for no one.

Caelan Noir sat in a low black chair, his back straight, his hands folded neatly. Before him, the glass wall reflected the lights of the night city—not a view, just an indicator of activity. The dots of light moved, stopped, shifted. Like a docile living graph.

He didn't look at the data screen. He didn't give orders. He didn't speak.

For several minutes—or maybe an hour—nothing changed.

Silence wasn't unfamiliar to him. Silence was normal.

He closed his eyes briefly.

Not to rest.

Just to make sure… there were no internal disturbances.

His breathing was steady. His heartbeat efficient. No emotions were prominent. No memories demanded attention.

Everything was clean.