Seraphina's Point Of View
The next few hours dissolved into a blur of frantic calculations, screaming spreadsheets, and merciless abuse of the department espresso machine. Outside the massive glass windows, the sun crept below the horizon, painting bloody streaks of orange and purple across the concrete bullpen, but neither of us paused.
I sustained myself entirely on lukewarm cups of black coffee, my desk accumulating a tiny graveyard of paper cups that bore witness to our desperate focus. The fluorescent lights overhead hummed their monotonous tune, a soundtrack to our caffeine-fueled determination.
Finally, as the last column of the mid-month reconciliation slid into place, I dropped my pen and threw my arms above my head, twisting my torso until a series of loud, deep pops echoed from my spine. The relief was instantaneous, spreading through my muscles like warm honey.
