He had known it would be hot—this was Florida, after all—but he couldn’t have anticipated how thick it would feel, like an extra layer on his skin. He was going to have to get one of those tacky sunshades for his car or get the windows tinted darker, something, because if this was early April then summer was going to be atrocious. You’re not in Massachusetts anymore, Caleb thought as he grabbed his brown leather satchel off the passenger seat, shouldered it, and locked up his car. The bag’s edges had grown worn in the years since he’d bought it, a splurge after graduating art school, but it still held everything he needed: his work laptop, tablet, and sketch pad, along with an assortment of pens and pencils. As he crossed the parking lot of the industrial complex that housed PI Games, it took him a moment to identify the sensation in his stomach. He was nervous. How long had it been since he’d been nervous about a job? Not since he and Henry had run the numbers on their business and realized they couldn’t save it.
