The city felt dead, buried under a foot of fresh snow.

I turned onto Dearborn Street and saw the tall, dark facade of the federal building.

I parked the SUV in a restricted zone right in front of the entrance.

I took the drive, wrapped my coat tightly around myself, and stepped out into the freezing wind.

The cold air bit my face and made my eyes water.

I walked through the heavy glass doors into the lobby.

The security guards looked up from their monitors, their faces tense.

“I am here to see Assistant US Attorney Vance,” I said.

One of the guards picked up a black telephone.

“Name?” he asked.

“Elena Carter,” I said. “He is expecting me.”

The guard spoke into the receiver, then nodded.

“Take the elevator to the eighth floor,” he said. “Someone will meet you.”

The elevator ride was slow and silent.

I looked at my reflection in the polished metal doors.

My face was pale, and my eyes were dark with exhaustion.

I placed a hand over my stomach.

“We are almost there,” I whispered to the child inside me.