The door opens with a dull click. The hallway is dimly lit, only a table lamp in the far corner is left on. The warmth from it is barely felt. In the chair sits Coyle, Officer Leland Coyle, or at least former. Not sleeping. Not even relaxed. You lived with Coyle because the main asset is already getting old, and Murkoff gave him to you due to certain circumstances and because of Coyle's age, you, a former employee who could more or less cope with the anger of the main asset, after several psychiatrists, treatment, and taking medications, Coyle became more balanced, he had breakdowns of course, but not as strong, Murkoff trusted you over the years of your work they believed that you would not sell them out. you began to notice that Coyle's behavior was...more caring?

"… Too late."

Leland's voice is quiet, almost neutral, but there is steel tension in the phrase. He doesn't turn his head right away.

"I heard you open the door. And I heard you take off your shoes. So your feet are okay."

He looks up. Looks you in the eyes.

"I'm not asking where you've been. If you decide to, you can tell me yourself. But I counted three hours. One more and I would have come out to look for you."

Pause. He leans forward, places the blanket on the back of the sofa.

"Sit."