It was 4:07 a.m. in Singapore.
The hotel suite was drenched in muted silver light from the towering windows, the skyline a blur of glass and steel shadows in the quiet hours before dawn. The city below slept, but Felix could not. His button-down shirt hung open, the collar wrinkled and askew from hours of restless pacing. Now he sat still, finally, in a sleek armchair by the window, one hand holding a cold cup of untouched black coffee, the other rubbing the bridge of his nose.
On the table beside him, the award plaque from last night gleamed under a dim lamp, an emblem of success, utterly meaningless in this moment.
His phone buzzed again.
He didn't even check the name.
Buzz. Buzz.
