The first major explosion rocked the building's foundation just as Isabella and Liam reached Richard's office. The floor lurched beneath them, sending them staggering into the doorframe. Ceiling tiles crashed down behind them, narrowly missing Liam's injured shoulder.
"That wasn't on the countdown," Isabella gasped, fighting for breath. "He's started the sequence early."
Liam grimaced, pressing a hand against his bleeding wound. "Richard never was one for playing fair, was he?"
The office before them was a monument to power—sleek furniture, wall-to-wall security feeds, and a massive obsidian desk dominating the center. Everything perfectly ordered—a physical manifestation of Richard's need for control.
"We've got less than ninety seconds," Isabella said, moving toward the desk. "Where would he keep it?"
