"Are you absolutely sure you should be out of bed?"

Harper Quinn’s voice cut through the rhythmic, mechanical hum of the large-format printer in the corner of her cramped spare bedroom.

Clara Vance didn’t look up from the sprawling architectural blueprint pinned to the makeshift drafting table.

Julian Thorne stood up so fast his heavy leather chair scraped violently against the hardwood floor.

"Clara," he said again, his voice thick with a desperate, naked relief that made Marcus flinch beside him. Julian took a step around the table, his hand reaching out. "Oh my god. Where have you bee

Julian Thorne did not remember the drive from the waterfront high-rise back to his office. He didn't remember stumbling into his private elevator, or the alarmed look Marcus had given him before Julian slammed his office door shut and locked it.

All he could hear, echoing in the cavernous, silent