The morning in Freenly City was suffocating. The skyscrapers were swallowed by a low-hanging, iron-grey mist that seemed to mirror the heavy, radioactive mood inside the Deviloy Tower.
Malcolm Ford moved through the lobby like a localized storm. His return from Gwenreen City had been a silent, terrifying affair. He hadn't slept; the silver essence in his blood had spent the night vibrating against his nerves, a cold, persistent haunting that made his skin feel too tight for his muscles. He was wearing a fresh suit, but his eyes were bloodshot, and his aura was so sharp it felt like it could draw blood from anyone who stood too close.
As he reached the 102nd floor, the double doors of the main briefing hall were closed. Inside, the new intake of elite interns was being lectured on corporate ethics and security protocols.
Standing just outside those doors, huddled against the cold glass, was a small, trembling figure.
It was Luca Vane.
