The explosion didn't wait for morning. It detonated while the city was still asleep.
By 6:00 AM, Ryan stood in the center of his 42nd-floor office, holding a mug of black coffee. The sun hadn't crested the horizon yet, leaving the sprawling Manhattan skyline wrapped in a bruised, slate-grey dawn.
Out on the main floor, the bullpen was already in a state of absolute, chaotic overdrive.
Mike was pacing a hole into the charcoal carpet, a wireless headset strapped to his ear, arguing frantically with someone over the phone.
Liam sat at the massive marble table in the war room, surrounded by empty energy drink cans, his eyes darting across three separate monitors displaying live web traffic.
Sophie pushed through the frosted glass doors of the Sanctum. She didn't bother knocking.
