The doors of Conference Room B were shoved open.
Aria stumbled across the threshold, her chest heaving as she desperately gasped for air. She had sprinted the rest of the way down the Manhattan avenues, completely barefoot, weaving through the apocalyptic standstill of honking yellow cabs and furious pedestrians.
The cream cashmere sweater she wore was clinging uncomfortably to her sweat-dampened skin. Her hair, which she had tried so hard to fix in the car, was a bird's nest of rose-gold tangles.
She looked up at the digital clock mounted above the exit sign.
2:57 PM.
The conference room was completely stripped of its energy. The emergency strobe lights from the fire alarm had finally been shut off, leaving the room bathed in dim, depressing shadows. Overturned metal folding chairs littered the carpet like a graveyard of a battle that had already been lost.
The media was gone.
"Zoe?" Aria called out, her voice cracking as she stepped further into the wreckage.
"Back here."
