Over time, John has learned to move quietly on the crutch. But he isn't trying to be very quiet now, letting the fall of his boot thud over the threshold, counting on the creaking of hinges as he nudges the door further open.

"You're going to crick your neck," by way of greeting.

It is late. The office is empty. It's as good a place as any other for a conversation that feels overdue, though John knows it's been no more than a handful of days since last they spoke.