The descent was a controlled, terrifying freefall.
The wind hit me the second I cleared the balcony railing. It was loud. A constant roar in my ears that drowned out the city. It tore at the tactical suit and made the high-tensile line vibrate against my gloves. Fifty stories of glass and steel slid past me in a blur. The Wynn's facade reflected the city lights in broken shards. Gold, red, white.
I kept my profile tight. Shoulders in. Knees bent. No silhouette. Julian Croft was asleep in bed. Noah Reed didn't exist.
I bypassed the suite directly below mine. Through the glass I caught a glimpse of blue light. The Imperial Shadow was sitting at a desk, hunched over a laptop. She was busy monitoring the fake network traffic Nia was feeding her. Her back was to the window. Her hair was up. She never looked out.
Good. Let her stare at lies.
