He turned back to the door and left.
The corridor outside received him without ceremony, and his footsteps moved away from the office at the same unhurried pace they had carried him in.
Seconds passed.
Then the thunder came.
It rolled through the air outside with the sharp, decisive quality of the lightning that had preceded it — a single crack, loud enough to reach clearly through the office walls, carrying the kind of force that made the sound felt as much as heard.
In the office, Taz stood.
For a moment he was simply a man in a room, upright and present and existing in the aftermath of a conversation that had rearranged something fundamental about his understanding of his own situation.
And then his legs made their decision.
