45:04:37
The fire alarm didn’t trip until the third body hit the floor.
By then, the guards posted at Evelyn’s Berlin satellite had already failed.
One throat slit on the stairwell.
One spine snapped in the hallway.
One heart punctured at the base of the control room ladder, still clutching a security badge that would never beep again.
No gunfire.
No alarms.
Just silence.
Then: screaming.
By the time the rest of the team mobilized, it was already too late.
Ilya moved through the c*****e like a shadow stitched in human skin.
She wore a black parka and no mask.
She didn’t need one.
The cameras had all been looped—perfectly, precisely, for thirteen minutes.
Long enough.
Too long.
She reached the upper mezzanine, where a cracked-glass pane overlooked the main floor of the safe
