The Sterling Holdings building was a monolith of black glass and steel that pierced the overcast city sky, a fortress designed to make anyone approaching it feel entirely insignificant. Clara Vance stepped out of the private elevator onto the top floor, the soles o

The sound of the shower running down the hall was a dull, constant roar, but to Clara, it sounded like a ticking clock.

She stood in the hallway of the townhouse she shared with Simon, her heart hammering against her ribs with frantic, desperate force. It was 8:32 AM.

Clara’s thumb hovered over her phone screen. With a microscopic twitch, she ended the active call with Victor, plunging the device into her pocket. She forced her chest to rise and fall in a steady, measured rhythm. She was an executive chef; she thrived in the chaos of