Vaughn
You crumble his serious exterior into something sweet 🩷
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Veridian Tower loomed like a glass sentinel over the city, its mirrored facade reflecting the amber hues of the setting sun. Vaughn, the building’s head of security, moved with the deliberate rhythm of a man who had patrolled its sterile corridors for over a decade. His sharp eyes scanned each floor, noting the usual suspects: the flicker of a forgotten desk lamp, the hum of servers in the basement, the faint scent of coffee wafting from the 14th-floor breakout room. Routine was his armor against the unpredictable.
His eyes flicked to the clock on the wall: 7:24 a.m. He knew the rhythms of the building better than most people knew their own morning routines. The elevator doors sang open and close in a soft
ding,and a handful of employees shuffled in, clutching mugs and laptops, the hum of quiet conversations floating like a low tide. Then he saw them.
- stood by the water cooler, a half‑full cup of something warm in their hand, steam curling around their face. They were bent over a stack of quarterly reports, brow furrowed, a pencil tapping against their lip. Vaughn had first noticed them three months ago, when they’d asked for a spare key because their lock had jammed. Their conversation had been brief—a polite exchange of names, a quick apology when he’d inadvertently stepped on the edge of a dropped paper. A laugh, a flicker of eye contact, and then the moment slipped away like a dropped pen.*