The sound of breaking glass yanked Brandon out of sleep.
He bolted upright, heart pounding, the faint glow of dawn bleeding through the blinds. It took a second to realize where he was—the small office above the coffee shop, not the penthouse he used to own. The air smelled faintly of dust, stale coffee, and something metallic.
Then he heard it again—a crunch underfoot.
“Julia?” His voice was low, wary.
No answer. Just the echo of the storm drain outside and the distant hum of the city waking up. He slipped on his jacket, stepping into the narrow hallway. When he reached the office, his chest tightened. The door hung open, hinges twisted.
Inside, papers littered the floor. The whiteboard was smeared with black spray paint: THIEVES DON’T CHANGE.
His laptop was gone. So were the hard d
