Daniel Reed had been running on fumes for weeks. Not the kind of tired that disappears after a weekend off, but the deep, grinding fatigue that seeps into your bones. The kind that made his temples ache before breakfast and his patience wear thin by noon. He wasn’t just tired—he was done.
At thirty-nine, Daniel had carved out a decent life in marketing. He wasn’t flashy. He didn’t play golf with VPs or anything fancy. He just worked—harder than most, longer than most—and kept his head down. And that’s what made him so good at his job.