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By ten that night, the office building was basically a ghost town. It was so quiet that every little creak from the air conditioning sounded like whispers coming from the walls.
Most of the lights on our floor were off, leaving only the warm glow of Mr. Fairchild's desk lamp and the flickering light from our two laptop screens to chase away the darkness.
Papers and printouts were scattered across the conference table like plans for an army, charts of hospital trial stats, summaries of patient feedback, results from usability tests, timelines that looked scarier the longer you stared at them. We'd been at it for hours, and the caffeine was fading fast against our tiredness.
I sat across from him, pretending to study a particularly complicated page of adverse-event reports. But my gaze kept wandering.
