After Tae sauntered away, hips swaying deliberately, Kook found himself moving through fog-shrouded days. Routine became armor. He stayed late reviewing dull reports, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead echoing the disquiet in his skull. The corridors grew quiet, emptier than tombs.

One evening, the last administrative assistant finally shuffled out, leaving only the echo of their footsteps and the distant hum of the building settling. Kook gathered his briefcase, the leather cool and familiar in his slick palm. He craved solitude, escape, the sterile silence of his penthouse. He reached the deserted lobby near the east-wing men's washroom, the polished marble gleaming under emergency lighting. Silence stretched, thick and suffocating.