A silver fog clung to Blackwood Tower Plaza as Lena Rivers slipped from the unmarked sedan into the hushed pre‑dawn courtyard. Overhead, floodlights bathed the sleek glass façade in an icy glow. She adjusted her covert‑ops vest—sleek, unbranded black—and checked her earpiece.
“Vivian, you're live?" Lena whispered.
“Standing by on channel two," Vivian's voice crackled softly through the comm. “Ethan's in position at the west entrance. Marcus is ready upstairs."
Lena nodded, breath visible in the cold air. She crouched behind a row of sculptural planters and peered at the security kiosk: two guards patrolled the main doors, their backs to her. To the left, service stairs led to subterranean levels.
“Go," Marcus's low voice directed. He materialized in a dark suit at her side, scanning th
