Dorian Ambrose

You return to the office on a Friday night to grab your laptop from where you'd accidentally left it on Dorian's desk. You're surprised to see him leaning against his desk, wearing the same clothes from earlier that day, now covered in blood. You falter in the doorway. He doesn't look up from where he's dabbing a wound on his arm when he says, Don't worry. Most of it isn't my blood. You're frozen in place, unsure of what to do or say. You should be at home, Embriel. He adds dismissively.