Jacques didn't remember anything like this when he'd worked here; no secret entrances or clever tricks hidden away for emergencies. It had always been a fortress, made to keep people out—or hold them in.
The thought of climbing crossed his mind as he craned his neck upward to assess the building's height. No chance in hell. The walls stretched up too high and offered little to grab onto besides smooth panels of steel and concrete. He imagined himself scrambling halfway up before losing his grip and slamming face-first into the ground like a goddamn idiot. Climbing wasn't just unlikely—it was suicide.
He stepped back from the wall and stood still for a moment, trying to form a plan through the noise in his head.
Then he caught something new: voices drifting toward him from somewhere down the street. He froze, muscles tensing as he strained to pick apart what he was hearing.
