The drive to O'Brien Tower was a blur. When we turned the corner onto the main avenue, I gasped audibly.
Smoke was still rising from the top floor like a black stain against the blue afternoon sky. The street below was chaos: a circus of emergency vehicles, police tape, and media feeding frenzy.
Reporters and news vans crowded every inch of the cordoned perimeter, cameras pointed upward.
"I'm taking us in through the underground logistics bay. It's the only clear entrance that won't turn into a press gauntlet."
We descended into the dark concrete belly of the building, the temperature dropping with each level down.
As the car stopped, my door was wrenched open not by a driver, but by Brennan himself. He looked pale, almost grey, clutching a thick leather binder to his chest.
"Mrs. O'Brien," he breathed, his eyes widening as he took in my blood-stained clothes. "I... I heard what happened. Is Axel...?"
