Riva’s heels clicked a rhythmic, predatory beat against the marble floor, the sound echoing through the corridor like a countdown. She didn't look back to see if Lina and Zack were following; she knew they were. The leash of fifty million dollars and the shadow of her gun were far more effective than any physical chain.

She stopped abruptly in front of a heavy, reinforced steel door at the end of the west wing. With a sharp hiss, the pneumatic locks disengaged. Riva pushed the door open, revealing a room that smelled of expensive leather, ozone, and a lingering, metallic scent of old sweat.