Chapter 4 — Elliot’s Tightening Grip

Cyrus

The hum of the elevator was faint, a low vibration swallowed by the sterile silence of the corporate tower. Cyrus stood motionless inside, hands buried deep in the pockets of his trench coat, his jaw tight. The mirrored walls reflected his lean silhouette, his sharp features shadowed beneath the brim of his fedora. The faint scar tracing his jawline caught the pale, artificial light as he tilted his head forward, masking his expression. The envelope in his pocket felt heavier with each passing second, its weight a quiet accusation against his reluctant compliance.