The heavy brass handle of the study door felt cold against my palm, a stark contrast to the burning anxiety that had been clawing at my throat for the past hour. Inside, the room was a war room in all but name. Blue-white light from three separate monitors washed over Asher's face, casting harsh shadows that sharpened the hard angles of his jawline and deepened the exhaustion etched around his eyes. Maps of the city's complex underground transit lines were layered over digital traffic grid matrices—a chaotic, pulsing web of neon ink that, right now, meant absolutely nothing to us.
Our trail was completely dead.
