The quiet in their new office was completely different from the scary, tense silences they were used to. Before, when they were hiding in motels or dark basements, silence meant danger—it was the quiet of holding your breath, waiting for an enemy to find you. This new silence was clean and peaceful. The air was cool from the conditioning, and the room smelled of newly painted walls and the fresh carpet beneath their feet. This silence wasn't about hiding; it was about possibility. But for Ace, who had spent so long running and fighting, this calm was almost as worrying as the sound of police sirens.
Bright sunlight poured through the tall windows of their office on the fifteenth floor. The space was modern and open, with a small waiting area, several desks with computers, and a meeting room with clear glass walls. It was hard to believe this was the same group of people who had once lived in a shabby motel or fought for their lives in a burned-out factory.
