“So, do you think this place is what you’re looking for, Mr Watts?”

Zackary takes in the office space, as the real estate agent stands at the doorway.

Compared to his room at Uncle Ernest’s house, this place is much bigger — where at home, his documents struggle to stay stored, art submissions are stacked up in spare corners, and his cork board is spilling… here, it looks like it’d be able to fit all that, and more.

He walks around, trying to picture where he’d put everything, how he’d split things up. There, he could maybe fit some printers, ones that could match the quality back at CCVE (he wouldn’t even have to pester Mr Winthers, anymore); here, it would be a perfect strip to house employees — Sparked employees — his friends, Rachel and Amreet, if they wished; and then, he sees a room slightly cordoned off from the rest, with glass walls and a space where a name could be painted on.

He enters.
And he can’t help but be reminded instantly of Mr Chaudry’s office, back in The Sleuth.

A large window faces him, with a view of the city, buzzing and filled with life and stories to tell, and as he touches his hand against a socket in the wall, he feels the pulse of electrity, like a heartbeat, thrumming through this place — this space, that he’s worked so hard to carve out, who he can afford thanks to his friends, and now… they’re all closer than they’ve ever been before.

He turns back to the real estate agent, bolts in his eyes sparking vibrantly as energy flows through him.

“It’s perfect.”