[117 Days Left to Live]
The first thing that broke the silence in the dimly lit office was the crack of knuckles against wooden furniture.
"Damn it!" Reynold said under his breath, slamming his fist against his desk a second time. The force made the files stacked neatly at the corner tremble, a few papers slipping from the pile and falling to the floor.
He pressed his knuckles into the hard surface of the desk and lowered his head, letting a shaky breath escape him. His jaw tightened, the muscles at his temples tremoring. His normally composed face was a mess of emotions — a mixture of pure frustration, disbelief, and a creeping madness that seemed to gnaw at him from the inside.
"It's a dead end again… again!" Reynold said quietly, nearly to himself. "How many more trails are going to disappear the moment I get close?"
