Two hours isn't a measurement of time anymore. It’s an endurance test.
By midnight, the air in the penthouse has turned thick, cold, and metallic. Byte hasn't moved from the table, his eyes bloodshot and hollow, staring at a static grid that hasn't flickered once since the feeds died. Jade is on her knees beside the coffee table, her knuckles white where she’s gripping the edge of the wood, her face buried in her arms.
I’m standing by the floor-to-ceiling glass, watching the dark city skyline. My jaw aches from clenching my teeth. Every time an engine hums in the street thirty floors below, my heart slams against my ribs, waiting for the sudden, sharp echo of sirens that never comes.
He's bleeding too fast.
The voice loops in my head, over and over, wearing a groove into my brain. I do
