The city never sleeps, but it does get restless. The dawn brought a dull, gray light that seeped through the soot-stained windows of Victoria's safe house. Max Hastings sat at the kitchen table, a cigarette dangling from his lips, the smoke curling lazily towards the ceiling. The room was quiet, save for the occasional creak of the building settling and the soft, rhythmic breathing of Evelyn, who had finally succumbed to exhaustion on the battered old couch.
Max's eyes were red-rimmed from lack of sleep, but his mind was razor sharp. The press conference had been a gamble, a desperate move to turn the tide against Crane. Now, they had to deal with the fallout.
Victoria walked in, her hair disheveled, dark circles under her eyes. She had been up all night, working the phones, rallying allies, and making sure the documents they had revealed were disseminated far and wide.
"How's she doing?" Max asked, nodding towards Evelyn.
