ELARA'S POV
The bathroom on the forty-ninth floor is all marble and gold fixtures, obscenely luxurious.
Elara locks the door behind her and counts to ten, steadying her breathing. Her heart hammers so hard she's sure the security cameras can pick it up. But when she checks the corners of the room, she sees what Irina promised—no cameras. Client privacy, even here.
Small mercies.
She moves quickly to the air vent near the floor, pulling the lockpicking tools from her earring. Her hands shake as she works the screws, and she forces herself to focus. You've practiced this a hundred times. You can do this.
The first screw comes loose. Then the second. The third sticks, and precious seconds tick by while she works it. Finally, it gives, and the vent cover comes free.
The opening is smalle
