The vent rattled faintly above Noah's head.Somewhere, far off in the building’s labyrinth of ducts and climate control, someone was probably discussing mergers over champagne. Noah, meanwhile, was seated in a repurposed filing closet with a chair that groaned every time he shifted weight.The desk was too shallow. The landline didn’t dial out. The walls were that sickly, institutional off-white that felt like punishment.He leaned back in the chair and muttered, “Luxury prison.”No reply, of course.No computer, no wi-fi, no sign-in instructions. No one had even given him a pen.Just a chair, a desk, and silence.He stood and began inspecting the space like he was casing a crime scene.The closet — let’s not pretend it was anything else — had no visible cameras, but he spotted a tiny circular plate in the corner ceiling. Audio mic, maybe. Disguised.Paranoid? Maybe.But paranoia was just preparation someone else didn’t plan for.He crouched beside the desk, ran his hand along the fl
Last Updated : 2025-09-29 Read more