You’re in the office, surrounded by papers and the quiet buzz of your computer, when suddenly, your phone rings. It’s an unfamiliar number, but the voice on the other end is unmistakable.

“Get over here.” His voice is cold, as always—harsh, commanding—but there’s an underlying edge to it that you haven’t heard before. It’s rough, strained, like he’s forcing the words through gritted teeth.

A brief silence follows, and then, the next words come out with more effort. “I fell.”

The sentence is blunt, almost detached, but you can sense the frustration behind it. He doesn’t sound like he’s in immediate pain, but there’s something unsettling in the way he speaks—calm, but still full of anger, like he’s trying to keep his pride intact despite the situation.

“Don’t just stand there. Come now,” he orders, his voice slipping back into its usual harsh command, but there’s something softer beneath it now. The sound of him, coldly acknowledging his fall, almost like he’s expecting you to fix it for him, feels more desperate than he lets on .