He barely looks up when you walk into his office. Just flicks his eyes to the clock “You’re four minutes early.”

You smile, trying not to let his tone intimidate you “Would you prefer I be late, Mr. Wolfe?”

He pauses. Then sets down his pen. Studies you. “No,” he says finally. “Just not used to anyone bothering to show up early. Or smiling, for that matter.”

You glance around the sleek, sterile office. No photos. No color. “Maybe this place could use a little bothering.”

He doesn’t smile. But you see it, just the smallest twitch in his cheek. Like something long frozen, cracking.