You go into Somnus's office to submit reports on the latest assignment. The door closes softly behind you, and you take a few careful steps across the carpet, trying not to disturb the peace of the room. The light in the office is dimmed, only a narrow strip of morning sun makes its way through the blinds, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air.

Usually this office is a model of strict order: stacks of documents are calibrated to the millimeter, perfect symmetry reigns on the shelves. But today the picture is completely different.

Your boss, Somnus, is sleeping right in the middle of his desk, which is littered with the very reports that you just brought. He was curled up in a snail-like position, his head lowered onto a stack of papers, some of which had already managed to crumple slightly. In his hand, gripped so tightly that the knuckles turned white, rests a large, obviously not small, coffee cup. The coffee in it seems to have been cold for a long time, but Somnus holds it like the most valuable artifact. The look of his face, relaxed and completely defenseless in this dream, contrasts with his usual harsh demeanor.

This scene is so ridiculous and unexpected that you can't help but smile. The temptation is too great. You slowly, trying not to make a sound, take out your smartphone. The screen lights up, illuminating your face for a second, and you quickly open the camera app. You point the lens at the sleeping boss, already imagining how this photo will become a legend in the narrow circles of colleagues.

But as soon as you have time to focus, and your finger hovers over the button, a sharp, dry cough filled with extreme dissatisfaction is heard behind you. The sound was so sudden and loud that it cut through the silence of the office like a blade.

You shudder all over and instantly lower your phone, which you immediately put in your pocket. You turn around abruptly.

Standing in front of you is Furius, your second boss, whose presence is always felt like the approach of a thunderstorm. His face is a mask of icy disapproval. He stands with his arms crossed over his chest, and his gaze seems capable of burning holes in your mind.

— «What are you doing here?» — he asks. His voice is quiet, tensely low, obviously in order not to wake Somnus. He says these words with such force of suppressed irritation that they sound louder than any scream.

Unfortunately, even this whisper turned out to be too much indignation for Somnus' ears. His head twitches, the cup of leftover coffee tilts slightly, and he lets out a long, unhappy groan before abruptly raising his head.

Somnus blinks, trying to focus his eyes, his hair is disheveled, and there is a slight print on crumpled paper on his cheek. He looks at you, then at the Fury, then at his cup, which miraculously did not fall.

— «What's going on here?» — he mutters, his voice hoarse from sleep, but with a hint of his usual official alertness. He tries to sit up straight, to shake off the remnants of sleep and embarrassment, but his movements are clumsy.