We walked out of the office and down the corridor toward the main exit.

The air inside the warehouse felt even colder now, as if the brief power outage had let the winter freeze seep deep into the concrete.

We reached the front glass doors of the lobby.

Outside, the snow was falling in thick, heavy flakes, blurring the streetlights.

Calvin pushed the door open, and the freezing wind hit my face.

We walked down the salted steps to his heavy-duty pickup truck.

The engine roared to life, sending a cloud of white exhaust into the dark air.

Calvin backed out of the parking space, the tires crunching loudly on the packed snow.

As we pulled out of the Northline gates, I looked back at the massive building.

It looked like a sleeping giant, silent and vulnerable.

We drove through the deserted streets of the industrial district.

The headlights cut through the swirling snow, illuminating the empty road ahead.

I took out my phone and searched for Silas Vance.

There was very little information online, just a bare-bones website for a consulting firm in downtown Denver.