Torres International at midnight looked like a graveyard of glass and steel.
The towering skyscraper that usually bustled with thousands of corporate bodies was entirely dark, save for the dim, green emergency lights glowing along the baseboards. I padded softly through the hushed executive floor, my heart hammering against my ribs so loudly I was certain the night security guards would hear it on their monitors.
Slipping into Julian's private office, I closed the heavy mahogany door behind me until it clicked shut. The room smelled of expensive cologne and cold leather.
Moving quickly, I slid into his leather executive chair and propped my phone against a stack of files, initiating a silent video call. Tristan Vance's face appeared on the screen almost instantly, his background dark, his expression tight with anxiety.
"I'm in." I whispered, pulling the sleeve of my black hoodie over my knuckles to avoid leaving fingerprints as I reached beneath the heavy desk.
