Gravity stopped existing for exactly three seconds.
There was only the freezing night wind, the terrifying weightlessness of the drop, and the sharp, metallic smell of ozone.
Then, the C4 detonated.
It wasn’t a sound. It was a physical punch to the lungs. The air was sucked out of the sky, immediately replaced by a concussive shockwave of vaporized marble and pulverized glass.
Michael twisted them in mid-air. He didn’t brace for impact. He simply turned his broad back to the exploding penthouse, wrapping his heavy arms around Jane’s head and crushing her face into the crook of his neck.
The heat washed over them like a physical tide. Glass shrapnel rained into the dark like diamond dust.
The heavy industrial rappelling line swung them violently away from the blast zone, a massive pen
