The amber caught the morning light just right.
It sat in the middle of Trevor's desk, polished smooth, the small butterfly inside suspended in a world of gold. Light from the tall windows stretched across it, fractured through the resin, and scattered over the dark grain of the desk like flecks of honey and flame.
The city outside hummed with the usual rhythm of cars, voices, and a courier drone flying by the high windows, but everything inside felt still. The office smelled faintly of bergamot and paper, of the espresso cooling beside his keyboard, forgotten an hour ago.
Trevor sat behind the desk in his shirt and vest, the charcoal suit jacket hanging carelessly over the back of his chair. The top button of his collar was undone, the silk tie loosened just enough to let him breathe. He should have been working. The digital display on his screen blinked with unread messages, reports stacked in patient silence.
But his eyes never left the amber.
