"How are you not dead yet?" Julian asked at 9:00 PM, offering a cup. Leo declined, eyes fixed on his monitor. He had a relative's firm looking to go public, and he wanted to lead the deal.

In the world of investment banking, the real money was in the "get," not the execution. Leo was born in Rome; Julian was just a soldier on the ground.

Inspired by Leo's drive, Julian leaned into the grind.

A week later, Synapse AI accelerated. The IPO timeline was slashed by three months due to looming regulatory tightening.

Julian's meticulous plans shattered. As project coordinator, he had to soothe the ruffled feathers of the team, enduring the cold glares of analysts facing a brutal crunch.

He remembered Samuel's lecture on Rules, Rewards, and Punishments. He petitioned Asher for extra perks—high-end catering and premium snacks—to buy the team's cooperation. It worked for most.

James, a rotating intern, was the outlier. He never finished his tasks.

Julian and Leo covered for him for two weeks, guiding him with a patience that was rapidly evaporating.

James didn't do "all-nighters"; he would do it in the morning, he said. Julian cornered him at lunch. "I've given you the lightest workload, James. Just finish it". James shrugged, dropping a rib onto Julian's tray with a slick smile. "You don't have to help me, Jules. I'll get to it at 8:00 AM. What's the difference between 3:00 AM and 8:00 AM anyway?".

Julian felt like he was punching a wall of cotton. He was too rigid, too linear; he lacked the leverage to move a slick operator like James. He craved Samuel's guidance, or perhaps just a sliver of the man's power.

He went to Samuel's office. He found Oliver sitting in Samuel's chair, eating chips and staring at a tablet.

"Samuel is changing in the back," Oliver said, wiping his hands. Julian stood in the doorway, a sudden, sharp sense of displacement washing over him. "It's fine. Never mind," Julian muttered, turning on his heel.

"Julian?" Samuel emerged, the scent of his cologne filling the room. Oliver gestured with a chip. "He just left". Samuel's expression darkened. He checked the boy at his desk. "Oliver, I'm warning you for the last time. No snacks in my office".

Julian retreated to the restroom to splash cold water on his face. He knew he shouldn't depend on Samuel anymore, but seeing Oliver in that office felt like an amputation. Was Samuel comforting Oliver the way he had comforted him? Was he teaching him the same lessons? Was he embracing him?.

Julian looked up at the mirror. Samuel was standing there. Water dripped from Julian's lashes, making it look as though he had been crying. He quickly grabbed a paper towel.

"Did you need something?" Samuel asked, his hands moving through the soap suds in a slow, cinematic rhythm. Julian shook his head. "Nothing". He had decided James wasn't worth the trouble; the slacker would be gone in two months anyway.

The only sound in the room was the rush of the tap. Julian turned to leave.

"Julian." Samuel's voice was the same low, frigid vibration from the day they first met. He stepped closer, his presence a physical weight.

"Regardless of what happened between us, I expect it to stay out of our professional environment".

Julian's jaw went tight. "I know. It won't be an issue".

Samuel watched Julian across the desk. In the three months since the foyer incident, Julian's soft, collegiate edges had been stripped away, replaced by a quiet, practiced composure. Only the bruised, charcoal shadows beneath his eyes betrayed the cost.

"The timeline moved up. You've worked hard, Julian," Samuel said, his voice a low vibration.

Julian's gaze didn't waver. "It's my job, sir."

Samuel opened his mouth, the air between them suddenly heavy with unspoken things. Then, the door handle clicked. Someone was entering.

"I'll head back," Julian said, slipping past the newcomer before the silence could break.

Walking down the corridor of Apex Capital, Julian realized he had drastically underestimated the man's gravity. Samuel was a surgical leader; even without the specific guidance of the early days, Julian found himself unconsciously mimicking the man's cadence, his surgical precision.

But Julian wasn't Samuel. He didn't have the title or the armor. He had to find his own floor.

He had finally reached a truce with James. The rotating intern worked mornings; Julian performed the final review at 8:30 AM. It was a fragile equilibrium that held for a week—until the Synapse AI reporting. Samuel always arrived an hour early for client meetings to perform his own checks. That meant Julian couldn't leave anything to chance. He forced James to stay in the office.

Midnight in the conference room. The only sound was the frantic staccato of mechanical keyboards. James stretched, his spine popping. "It's twelve. People are supposed to be sleeping."

No one looked up.

At 2:00 AM, James slammed his laptop shut. "I'm done. My grandmother's dog is already in REM sleep. I'm leaving."

Julian finally raised his head. "How much is left?"

"A few sections. I'll finish in the morning."

"The meeting is the morning," Julian's voice was as cold as the New York City winter outside. "Samuel will be here at seven. Give it to me. I'll finish it."

James's eyes lit up. "For real?"

Leo looked up from a spreadsheet. "I'm done with my part. James, give me your data. Julian, you still have to aggregate and check the formatting. Don't touch this section."

Julian offered a tired, grateful nod. By 3:30 AM, the room was empty save for Julian and the rhythmic hum of the printer.

It was 6:00 AM by the time Julian dropped the final binder on Samuel's desk. His legs felt like they belonged to someone else. He was heading for his coat, ready for an hour of sleep, when the phone shrieked.

The client. A version control nightmare. They had updated the data overnight and needed the report mirrored. Julian didn't argue. He didn't have the energy. He went to the breakroom and pulled a double espresso—liquid lightning for a dying battery.

He finished the edits before the first ray of sun touched the glass towers of the city. There was no time to sleep. He went to the cafeteria, but his taste buds were numb. The food was like cardboard.

Back at his desk, Julian sat down. His heart wasn't beating; it was thudding against his ribs like a trapped bird.

Thump-thump-thump.

The rhythm accelerated. Cold sweat turned his shirt to ice. His fingers went numb. He tried to grip the edge of the desk, to anchor himself to the world, but his body stopped taking orders.

The room tilted. Then went black.