Fortifying Floor 18

Nora's POV

By nine the next morning, the eighteenth floor sounded like an industrial shipyard.

Four heavy-duty construction contractors—paid double their standard union rate in untraceable cash—were drilling six-inch expansion anchors into the reinforced masonry around my apartment door.

The original hollow-core wooden entrance had been hauled away. In its place stood a twelve-hundred-pound, bank-grade brushed steel security door fitted with three independent deadbolts, a heavy drop-down floor sweep, and an internal hardened manganese strike plate.

"I've been hanging doors for thirty years, lady," the site foreman said, wiping sweat from his forehead as his crew torqued the final bolt into the concrete header. "This frame could take a direct hit from an armored personnel carrier. Who are you expecting? A cartel?"

"Just bad weather," I said, handing him an envelope thick with hundred-dollar bills. "Make sure the balcony sliders are fitted with the same ballistic laminate by noon."

"Money talks. The glass crew is already on the freight elevator."

By two in the afternoon, the apartment was transformed.

The balcony had been enclosed in fourteen-millimeter poly-carbonate ballistic panes rated to stop high-caliber rifle rounds and Category Six wind debris. On the utility roof directly above my unit, Dev—whom I had hired under the guise of an off-grid electrical consultation—was busily wiring sixteen commercial solar panels to a bank of high-capacity lithium iron phosphate batteries anchored in my spare closet.

I stood in the center of the living room, checking off items on my tablet:

* Water filtration: active.

* Grain and protein storage: secured in the System Vault.

* Auxiliary power: eighty hours of battery reserve.

A soft knock sounded at the newly hung steel door.

I peered through the optical viewer.

Tessa stood in the corridor wearing a beige cashmere cardigan, carrying a paper bag from an upscale bakery. Her hair was styled, her makeup flawless, but her eyes were darting nervously along the freshly drilled concrete walls.

I slid the heavy deadbolt back with a solid *clunk* and opened the door six inches.

"Nora!" Tessa gasped, her mouth dropping open as she took in the vault-grade slab. "What on earth happened to your front door? It looks like a prison cell!"

"The neighborhood association issued an advisory about burglaries," I said smoothly, stepping back to let her enter. "Julian insisted on upgrading our security before the wedding. You know how protective he gets."

"Julian paid for this?" Tessa asked, stepping into the foyer, her eyes scanning the reinforced window frames and the heavy tool cases sitting near the kitchen island.

"Of course," I lied, leading her into the kitchen. "He used the corporate emergency account. He wants to make sure I'm safe while he's tied up with his father's board meetings."

A subtle twitch pulled at the corner of Tessa’s eye. She set the bakery bag on the counter, her fingers tapping nervously against her leather designer clutch.

"That's... so thoughtful of him," she murmured, though her voice was stiff. "I tried calling Julian this morning, but his assistant said he was in an emergency briefing with Augustin. The family seems really tense this week, Nora. Have you noticed anything weird?"

"Just wedding stress," I said, pouring two glasses of iced water. "Why? Did Augustin mention something to you?"

"No! No, of course not," she said quickly, waving her hands with an overly bright laugh. "Why would Mr. Reeve talk to me about business? I'm just Julian's friend."

*Julian's friend who reports every breath I take to his father.*

"I need to use your restroom, babe," Tessa said suddenly, grabbing her clutch. "Too much iced coffee on the drive over."

"Down the hall on the left," I said.

The moment the bathroom door clicked shut, I slipped off my sneakers.

I moved silently down the hallway, pressing my ear flat against the painted drywall beside the ventilation grate.

Inside, the faucet was turned on full blast, water drumming loudly against the ceramic basin. Beneath the rush of water, I caught the rapid, muffled tap of fingernails against glass.

Tessa was typing.

I eased Eli’s spare utility mirror from my pocket, angled it beneath the quarter-inch gap between the bottom of the door and the tile, and adjusted the reflection.

Tessa was sitting on the closed toilet lid.

Her phone was clutched in both hands, illuminated in the gloom. She was typing an encrypted message into a black application window with the header *REEVE SEC-INTEL*:

> *The subject is heavily fortifying Unit 18A. Ballistic glass, industrial vault doors, auxiliary solar arrays installed today. She claims Julian authorized funding. Julian's black card had $100k drawn in 24 hours. Does Augustin want the extraction schedule moved up?*

>

A response blinked onto her screen three seconds later:

> *Monitor only. Do not alert the subject. Priority remains the biological baseline. Extraction team on standby for Saturday Gala.*

>

My blood ran cold as ice.

*Biological baseline.*

Augustin didn't just want Julian’s money back. He was already planning to harvest my blood before the sky even turned grey.

I slipped the mirror back into my pocket and took three soundless steps backward into the kitchen. By the time the bathroom door opened and Tessa walked out with a fresh coat of lip gloss, I was sitting at the counter, calmly slicing an apple with an eight-inch chef's knife.

"Everything okay in there, Tess?" I asked, looking up with a sweet, innocent smile.

"Fine, babe!" Tessa beamed, smoothing her cardigan over her hips. "Just fixing my face. You know me."

"I do," I murmured, driving the tip of the blade an inch deep into the wooden cutting board with a clean, solid *thud*. "I know you better than anyone."