The rain had stopped, leaving the streets wet and smelling of damp asphalt.

I walked toward the subway, my steps deliberate and even.

As I entered the station, I saw a copy of the morning newspaper sitting on a bench.

Alexander’s face was on the front page.

The headline read: “The Fall of Vale.”

I turned away and stepped onto the train, my fingers gripping the strap of my bag.

The train ride was quiet, filled with sleepy office workers reading their phones.

I got off at the station nearest to Vale Tower.

The massive glass and steel skyscraper rose up into the low-hanging gray clouds.

It looked cold, imposing, and completely impenetrable.

Two police cruisers were parked near the side entrance, their lights off but engines running.

I walked past them without slowing down, keeping my eyes fixed on the revolving glass doors.

Inside the lobby, the air-conditioning was cold and smelled of floor wax and expensive perfume.

Two security guards stood behind the high marble desk, their faces serious.

They were checking badges with more scrutiny than usual.