Kelvin skidded to a halt in front of him, gasping for breath. His eyes were wider than Noah had ever seen them, darting frantically between Noah's face and the corridor behind him.
"She's—here—" Kelvin wheezed, hands on his knees. "Gigarose. In the—main concourse."
Noah's expression remained neutral, but something cold settled in his stomach. "Gigarose? From Elder Genes?"
"Not just from Elder Genes!" Kelvin's voice cracked. "She owns it! Designed it! She's the—the architect behind the whole thing! And she brought an armed escort—like, military-grade armed—and she's just walking around like she owns the place, which technically she could because it's rumored her net worth is literally higher than the GDP of three sectors combined and—"
"Kelvin." Noah put a steadying hand on his friend's shoulder. "Breathe."
