The brass doors of the executive elevator groaned in metallic agony as I forced them apart. The gap revealed the desolate, concrete expanse of parking level B5, roughly four feet below the floor of the stalled elevator car. The subterranean garage was a cavern of reinforced pillars and deep, impenetrable shadows. The overhead fluorescent lights had been systematically disabled, leaving the massive space drowned in a suffocating, pitch-black void.
The air was stagnant, heavy with the smell of old engine exhaust, damp concrete, and the sharp, metallic tang of ozone—a byproduct of the localized signal jammers the strike team was using to kill our comms and the security cameras.
"Stay in the car," I whispered to Elara, my voice barely a breath. "Stay low. Do not make a sound, no matter what
