A few minutes earlier:
Just a hallway away from the lounge, Clyde found himself half-trapped in a conversation he hadn't planned on.
He had just left the room and was about to head back to his office when the president of the La Riviere pharmaceutical company cornered him.
The man talked nonstop, going on about some budget concern, his mouth moving a mile a minute while Clyde's patience wore thin.
Then, out of the corner of his eye, Clyde spotted movement.
A figure.
Micah.
He barely caught more than a flash, just the side of Micah's face and the stiff set of his shoulders as he hurried down the hall. But it was enough.
Micah looked wrong. He wasn't just walking fast. He was storming off, pale, eyes distant. Like he was barely holding himself together.
Was it his stomach again? The thought flashed in his mind.
Clyde didn't hesitate. His body moved before his mind did.
"Sorry, I need to handle something," he muttered to the president without looking back.
