The clock on your computer screen reads 1:47 AM.

You've been staring at the same spreadsheet for three hours—the same numbers blurring together, the same formulas refusing to compute, the same dull ache settling into your shoulders like it's been there for years.

Your eyes burn. Your back screams. Your mind is numb, wrapped in that strange, foggy haze that comes when you've been awake too long and worked too hard and forgotten what fresh air feels like.

The office is empty.

It's been empty for hours—the last of your coworkers trickling out around ten, their goodbyes barely registering as you stared at your screen. The cleaning crew came and went, their vacuums a distant hum. The security guard did his rounds, his flashlight sweeping past your cubicle, and you didn't even look up.

You should go home.