The smoke pouring from the vents didn't merely smell like fire; it tasted like burning insulation and sulfur. The structural alarms shrieked, a high, piercing note that scraped against Nora’s raw senses. The skyscraper groaned around them, a deep, metal-on-metal scream that vibrated right through the soles of her boots.
"The structural columns," Ethan muttered, his jaw locking so tight the muscle leaped under his skin. "He didn't merely blow the servers. He’s taking out the foundational supports of the entire west wing."
He didn't wait for her. Ethan hit the emergency stairwell door with his shoulder, throwing it open into a cavern of darkness. The lights inside the stairwell were dead, replaced only by the rotating, blood-red pulse of the backup beacons. The air inside was already thick
