The fluorescent lights of the county prosecutor’s office hummed a low, predatory thrum. Eleanor Vance, three years into her term, sat across from her boss, District Attorney Paul Moreau. His desk was a landscape of organized chaos, but the document he slid toward her was pristine.
The pen scratched against the paper—a short, final sound. She pushed the document back across the desk. Paul picked it up, held it to the light as if checking for watermarks of doubt, then nodded. full block
She signed.
Eleanor stood. Her knees felt strange, as if the floor had tilted a few degrees. She walked out of his office, down the fluorescent corridor, past the rows of identical doors, past the bulletin board with its "Justice for All" poster. The fluorescent lights of the county prosecutor’s office