Oren lay on his bed and stared at the ceiling.
The room was quiet and the facility had settled into its late-night sounds and he had been lying here for forty minutes trying to sleep but he had been failing.
He kept replaying it.
It wasn't the wall he's been replaying. Not the hand in his hair.
The flashback came before he could stop it.
...
His watch had chimed at 3pm.
He had been halfway through buttoning his shirt when the message came through. It was very important since it came from the director's office. Immediately, he finished buttoning, pulled the full uniform on, and walked there.
The director's office was large and organised and full of the specific energy of a man who managed too many things at once and had developed a system for all of them. The director himself was behind the desk with three documents open and a phone pressed between his ear and his shoulder, writing something with his free hand.
He held up one finger without looking at Oren.
