They surfaced three blocks from Grayson Tower, in the kind of side street nobody photographed.
No glass facade. No doorman. Just wet concrete, loading bays, and the hum of HVAC units that never slept. The tower still loomed overhead, a clean black shape against the low clouds, lights glowing behind endless windows like it was watching its own reflection.
Lena kept close behind Ethan. She'd finally forced her shoes on, but the laces were crooked and her hands kept hovering near her pockets like she didn't know what to do with them. Her eyes tracked every camera bubble and every mirrored surface. She looked like someone trying not to look suspicious—always the worst kind of suspicious.
Ethan didn't tell her to relax. Relaxing was for people who believed the city played fair.
His phone buzzed once in his pocket, sharp and impatient.
He didn't pull it out yet. He already knew the message would be the same.
Drop point. Lobby level.
Time.
Ethan paused at the mouth of the alley and scanned the rhythm of the street: headlights moving across puddles, a couple under an umbrella arguing in soft voices, a delivery rider weaving past parked cars with zero fear of consequences. Normal noise. Enough cover. Not enough safety.
He leaned toward Lena. "We go in through service."
She swallowed. "They'll be watching."
"Of course they'll be watching." He kept his voice flat. "That's why we don't act like we're sneaking."
Lena gave him a look like he'd asked her to fake an accent. "How?"
Ethan nodded toward her posture. "You work here."
"I don't."
"Tonight you do," he said. "Walk like you're late and annoyed about it."
That landed better than "walk confident." Lena's face tightened into something closer to irritation—part real, part forced. Good enough.
They crossed the street when two passing cars briefly blocked the camera angles. No sprinting. No glancing over shoulders. Just a man and a woman moving with boring purpose.
The service entrance sat under a metal awning with chipped paint and a keypad that looked like it had seen a hundred thousand digits. A camera above it panned slowly… then paused.
Ethan clocked the pause. It wasn't on a standard sweep. Someone had given it a reason to linger.
He pulled Lena a half step closer to the wall. "Camera's not automatic," he murmured.
Lena's eyes flicked up. "How can you tell?"
"It's waiting."
Her throat bobbed. "So… what now?"
Ethan's gaze slid down the lane. A rolling utility cart sat near a stack of moving blankets, abandoned like someone got called away mid-task. The wheels were scuffed. The handlebar had a strip of duct tape. A prop waiting to be used.
Ethan walked to the cart, flipped a blanket over it, and guided Lena to the handle. "Hands here."
Lena hesitated, then obeyed.
Ethan placed his hands beside hers and pushed.
From the camera's perspective, they weren't fugitives slipping into a building. They were two tired people delivering something dull and heavy.
Halfway to the door, a man stepped out from the building's shadow.
He wasn't in uniform, but he might as well have been. Earpiece. Square shoulders. The kind of calm that didn't come from confidence—it came from training.
He eyed the cart. "Delivery?"
Ethan didn't stop pushing. "Yeah."
The man's gaze moved from Ethan's face to Lena's and stayed there a fraction too long.
Lena stiffened.
Ethan spoke first, bored. "Lobby request. They wanted it yesterday."
"What's in it?" the man asked.
Ethan didn't bite. He shrugged like he didn't care. "If you want to know, ask whoever ordered it."
The man's mouth tightened. "Badge."
Ethan lifted a cheap contractor pass he'd grabbed earlier and held it out without stepping closer. Let the man decide how much space he wanted to close.
The man took it, looked at it for half a second, then handed it back. "You're not on the list."
Ethan didn't blink. "Then your list is behind."
The man stared at him, measuring. Ethan stared back like he'd done this argument a thousand times.
"What floor?" the man asked.
Ethan didn't give him a number. "Lobby."
The man's eyes flicked, almost involuntary. Recognition.
He stepped aside, opening a line to the keypad. "Punch it."
Ethan rolled the cart forward and stopped short of the door. He didn't touch the keypad.
He looked at the man like the answer was obvious. "You want it in there, you open it."
For a moment, Ethan thought the man might escalate. But instead, the man's jaw flexed and he entered a code himself.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
The lock clicked.
Ethan pushed the cart inside.
The man didn't follow right away. He let them go first, like he was giving them rope and waiting to see how they used it.
The service hallway smelled like cleaning chemicals and hot metal. Stacks of boxes lined one side, a mop bucket on the other. The kind of back-of-house corridor nobody remembered existed until something went wrong.
At the end: a freight elevator, a dead call button, and a stairwell door with a keycard reader.
Ethan pressed the elevator button.
Nothing.
Pressed again.
Still nothing.
Lena leaned close, whispering, "It's not working."
"It's working," Ethan said. "It's blocked."
Footsteps behind them. The security man had followed now.
He stopped a few feet away and didn't raise his voice. "Restricted access," he said calmly. "Who are you delivering to?"
Ethan kept his posture loose, annoyed. "Lobby request."
"Name."
Ethan met his eyes. "You already know why I'm here. Quit stalling."
That was the moment the man's face confirmed it. Not surprise. Not confusion.
Delay.
Ethan nodded slowly like he'd just solved a boring equation. "You're buying time."
The man didn't answer.
Ethan shoved the cart forward, hard—past the man's shoulder, not into him. The wheels squealed. The cart shot down the hallway like a runaway.
The man instinctively stepped sideways to avoid getting clipped.
Ethan grabbed Lena's wrist and yanked her into the maintenance closet beside the elevator.
Mops. Towels. Shelves of cleaning supplies.
He pulled the door shut. The latch clicked.
Immediately, the handle rattled from the other side.
"Open up," the man said. Still calm. Still pretending.
Ethan slid the cheap latch shut and ignored him.
Lena's eyes darted around, panic rising. "We're trapped."
Ethan tore towels off a shelf and revealed a narrow access panel behind them. "We're not trapped," he said. "We're moving."
He popped the panel open. A crawl space yawned—tight, dusty, lined with pipes.
Lena stared at it like it was a coffin.
Ethan didn't soften. "Go."
"I—" Lena started.
Ethan's voice sharpened. "Now."
Outside, the man's voice stayed almost polite. "I don't want to break the door."
Ethan muttered, "Then don't."
Lena swallowed, then slid into the crawl space. Ethan followed and pulled the panel shut behind them.
The crawl space was hot and cramped. Insulation fibers stuck to Ethan's sleeves. Lena's breathing sounded too loud.
"Slow," Ethan whispered. "Quiet."
They crawled forward on hands and knees.
Behind them, a crack—then a heavier crash.
The closet door giving up.
So much for polite.
Ethan pushed faster. Lena scraped her shoulder and bit back a sound.
The crawl space ended at a vent opening above a concrete stairwell. Ethan kicked the grille loose and dropped down, landing softly.
Lena followed, clumsy but controlled. Ethan caught her elbow before she could stumble hard.
They were in a service stairwell that smelled like stale paint and warm dust. No cameras in sight. No people. Just concrete and echoes.
Ethan cracked the stairwell door open.
Lobby light spilled through the gap, warm and expensive.
He checked his phone.
00:02:58
Lena whispered, "What happens if we miss it?"
Ethan kept his eyes on the lobby. "We're not missing it."
He pushed the door open and stepped out.
Grayson Tower's lobby was a cathedral for money. Polished stone floors. Warm lighting designed to make everyone look healthier than they were. A giant digital screen behind reception cycling through calm cityscapes and corporate slogans.
People moved through it like nothing bad had ever happened here: a couple with luggage, a cluster of suits laughing too loud, a woman with a small dog in a raincoat.
And security—too much security for a normal Tuesday night.
Two guards at the main entrance. One near the elevator bank. One drifting near reception like he was "just walking."
Ethan guided Lena across the lobby at a steady pace, like he belonged there and had paperwork to prove it. The trick wasn't confidence. It was irritation. People let irritated workers pass because nobody wants to ask extra questions.
A guard stepped toward them near the elevators. "Sir—"
Ethan didn't slow. "Service delivery," he said, low and impatient.
The guard's eyes flicked to Lena. "She with you?"
Ethan shrugged like he didn't care. "New."
The guard hesitated, radio lifting. "I need—"
Ethan angled them toward a marble column on the right side of the elevator bank. A small brass plaque sat there, the kind of thing most people never read.
Lena's gaze caught it anyway, because Lena was wired on fear.
LOBBY LEVEL — ACCESS POINT 3
Ethan's stomach tightened.
Access point. Control language.
He stopped in front of it like he was setting down a package, shoulders blocking Lena from the guard's direct view.
His fingers traced the edge of the plaque.
A seam.
A tiny latch.
He pressed.
A hidden panel clicked open, revealing a recessed slot and a single black card nestled inside like it was waiting to be taken.
Ethan snatched it.
His phone buzzed once in his pocket—satisfied.
Lena whispered, "That's… it?"
"Not here," Ethan said.
The guard reached them now, hand out. "What did you just take?"
Ethan turned, face blank. "Card for delivery access. Ask your supervisor."
"You don't have clearance."
Ethan's tone stayed calm. "Then why was it sitting there?"
The guard's confidence wavered for a split second. He didn't have an answer ready.
Ethan used the crack.
He let the black case slip from under his jacket and land on the floor with a soft, heavy thump.
Every eye dropped. That's what heavy objects did in a lobby built on control.
Ethan guided Lena around the guard's shoulder while the guard's attention snagged on the case.
"Stop!" the guard barked, snapping his eyes up too late.
Ethan didn't run. He walked fast—controlled—toward the staff stairwell door on the far side of the elevator bank.
He pushed.
It opened.
They slipped inside, and the door swung shut behind them, muffling the lobby noise.
Lena's breath burst out like she'd been holding it for a year. "You left the case."
"I know," Ethan said.
"That was—"
Ethan held up the black card. "This is better."
Lena's eyes searched his face. "How do you know?"
Ethan checked his phone.
The countdown had vanished.
A new line replaced it:
ACCESS GRANTED
No warmth. No congratulations. Just confirmation.
Ethan pocketed the phone. "We go up."
Lena blinked. "Up? Why—"
"Because they expect down," Ethan said. "Move."
Footsteps echoed from below—people entering the stairwell, voices tight.
Someone outside the door said, muffled but clear: "Lock the staff stairs."
Ethan's jaw tightened. "Go."
They climbed.
Not stomping. Not sprinting. Fast enough to matter, quiet enough not to advertise.
Lena followed, breathing hard. She didn't ask questions anymore. Questions cost seconds.
At Level 5, her pace faltered. Ethan caught her elbow. "Keep it together," he murmured.
"I'm trying," Lena breathed, voice thin.
At Level 7, the door above them opened.
A woman's voice slid down the stairwell, calm and familiar.
"Ethan."
Ethan froze for the smallest fraction of a second.
Vance.
Lena's breath caught.
Ethan didn't look up right away. He listened. Footsteps—slow, unhurried—descending like Vance had all night.
She stepped into view on the landing above: coat neat despite the rain, hair pulled back, eyes bright with something like satisfaction.
She glanced at Lena, then back to Ethan. "You did what it asked," she said. "Good. Now you can stop."
Ethan's mouth twitched, humorless. "You first."
Vance stepped down one stair. "Hand her over."
"No."
Vance sighed softly, like Ethan was inconveniencing her. "The drop point wasn't a gift. It was a test."
Ethan lifted the black card between two fingers. "And I passed."
Vance's smile thinned. "You passed the part where you still follow instructions."
Footsteps echoed from below—the security team climbing.
Vance didn't even glance down. She didn't have to. She could hear the net tightening.
Ethan's mind ran, fast and cold. Threat above. Threat below. Lena trapped in the middle.
He glanced at the wall beside him.
A fire alarm pull station. Red. Untouched.
Vance's eyes flicked to it—just for a heartbeat.
Ethan yanked the alarm.
The stairwell exploded with sound. Siren screaming. Strobes flashing harsh white. Voices below turning chaotic.
Vance flinched—not fear, just irritation at the disruption.
Ethan grabbed Lena's wrist. "Up!"
They sprinted past Vance on the landing. Vance reached out, fast, but Ethan shoved her shoulder just enough to break her timing and keep moving.
Level 9. Level 10.
Strobe lights made everything look like a bad memory.
Ethan's phone buzzed—harder now. He pulled it out while running.
DOOR DETECTED — LEVEL 12
Ethan's breath hitched.
A door.
A hidden door.
He looked at Lena. "Almost there."
She didn't question it. She just ran.
They hit Level 12 and shoved through the stairwell door.
The corridor outside didn't match the tower's public design. No artwork. No plants. No warm lighting. Just gray walls, a low hum, and a camera at the far end pointed like a warning.
Ethan's skin prickled.
He scanned the wall beside them. No handle. No obvious panel.
He held the black card up.
A subtle vibration hummed through it, like a chip waking.
Two steps ahead, a seam appeared—faint, then clearer—as if the wall remembered it was supposed to open.
A slot blinked into existence at waist height.
Lena whispered, "Is that… real?"
Ethan didn't answer. He slid the card into the slot.
Beep.
The seam widened.
The wall opened.
Cold air breathed out from the dark inside like a basement exhaling.
Footsteps slammed behind them in the stairwell—fast now. Someone had committed.
Ethan shoved Lena through the opening first. "Behind me."
She stumbled into darkness, caught herself.
Ethan stepped in after her.
The door began closing immediately, silent and smooth, like it wanted to erase their existence.
Ethan caught one last glimpse down the corridor as the gap narrowed.
Vance rounded the corner at a run—eyes locked, face finally stripped of calm.
The hidden wall sealed shut before she reached it.
Silence fell.
Ethan and Lena stood in the dark, breathing hard. The siren outside was gone, muffled into a distant pulse, then nothing.
Somewhere nearby, a mechanical click—locks engaging.
Then a faint screen flickered on ahead of them.
One word appeared, crisp and white:
WELCOME
Ethan's stomach tightened.
Because "welcome" in a place like this never meant safety.
It meant ownership.