Agent 22

CHAPTER 1: THE SPIRE

The rain over the District didn’t wash things clean; it just turned the grime into a slick, black mirror. Kaelen Voss stood on the ledge of the 44th floor, his boots finding purchase on a narrow strip of decorative granite. The wind whipped at his tactical coat, but his breathing remained rhythmic and slow.

He tapped his comms. “In position.”

“You have a three-minute window before the internal sensors cycle,” a cold, feminine voice replied. That was Sloane, his handler. He’d never seen her face, only heard that melodic, detached tone for the last three years. “Don't make me report a failure, Voss.”

Voss didn't answer. He used a glass cutter to carve a precise circle in the reinforced pane. With a rhythmic thud of his palm, the glass popped inward. He caught it before it hit the floor.