The glass walls of Damian’s office reflected the city’s pulse — restless, unblinking, alive. The hour was late enough that the corridors of Vance Couture were mostly dark, except for the narrow band of light spilling from his door.

Lena stood beside the desk, her palms pressed against its cold surface, watching lines of code scroll across the monitor. The faint hum of the servers filled the silence between them.

“Vault One,” she said quietly, eyes tracing the encrypted path Elise ...