The federal task force command center, temporarily established on the heavily fortified ninth floor of a downtown municipal building, was a hive of absolute, aggressive activity. Special Agent Elias Vance walked off the private elevator precisely at six in the morning, his sharp grey eyes scanning the bustling bullpen of analysts and armed tactical agents. He held a steaming cup of black coffee, projecting the perfect, untouchable aura of a seasoned predator entirely in control of the hunt.
He swiped his high-level security badge at the reinforced glass door of his private office. The lock clicked, glowing a sterile green, and he pushed the heavy door open.
Vance walked around his immaculate, perfectly organized mahogany desk. He set his coffee down and reached for his encrypted tablet.
