Noah’s POV
By the time I reached the executive floor, the smell hit me. Not just the scent of gunpowder and ozone, but the metallic tang of blood.
I stopped at the entrance of my office. My desk, a solid slab of hand-carved oak, had been split down the middle. My files, the lifeblood of all the routes, were fluttering in the wind that whistled through the shattered windows. And there, slumped against the mahogany filing cabinet, was Sarah.
My secretary. The woman who had sent flowers to my mother for twenty years, who knew my coffee order before I did, and who had stayed late every night this week to help me navigate the North's legal traps. Her throat had been slit open.
Something in my chest finally snapped.
"Silas!"
The roar tore from my throat, vibrating the very foundati
