Rhysand.
The underground parking garage swallows the car like a black mouth. I kill the engine, the sudden silence ringing louder than the tires ever did.
Rain hasn’t spoken since I told her about the hack. She just sits there in my oversized shirt and shorts, knees drawn up, staring straight ahead with her face unreadable.
I round the car, open her door, and offer my hand. She takes it, her fingers cold and stiff, not meeting my eyes. I lead her to the private elevator that only opens with my thumbprint.
The doors slide shut and we rise in silence. When the doors open onto the top floor chaos greets us.
Phones are ringing off the hook. Analysts are sprinting between their cubicles, all their screens flashing red with alerts. Voices overlap in panicked bursts like a house win fire and
