The courtyard is still buzzing with frantic movement when my phone vibrates again. My team has already secured the wounded guard, the medic is stabilizing him, and the captain continues barking orders to reinforce every inch of the building. The note from Adrian remains clenched in my fist, the paper creased and warm from my grip.
I lift the phone to my ear without hesitation.
“Elena,” I say.
This time she speaks immediately. Her voice is strained and trembling, as if she is trying to hold herself together through sheer force of will.
“Someone tried to get into the penthouse,” she whispers.
The world around me freezes.
“What happened,” I ask, sharper than intended.
“I heard something in the hallway,” she says. “Footsteps. Slow. Careful. Not the guards. I know the difference. I know
