Chapter 3

The stairwell side.

I repeated the words in my head, over and over, like driving a nail into wood.

I lifted my cup and took a sip of water, my eyes sweeping the main door and the terrace door.

The contracted security were still spread out. Two lines of sight held steady on the main entrance, and the man at the terrace door hadn’t left his post either. They were watching the crowd, and they were watching the doors.

I needed to step out one more time—and I had to do it the same way as before, naturally, like a slightly drunk employee making frequent bathroom trips.

I stuffed the half-folded napkin into my pocket and nudged my sleeve up, exposing my watch.

Just past 11:50.

Tighter than I’d expected.

When I’d been circling the banquet hall earlier, I’d kept my pace controlled—couldn’t move too fast, couldn’t look like I was searching. The trade-off was that time had been chasing me. Now I had one last shot.

I carried my cup toward the main entrance, shoulders loose, my posture a little slack, like alcohol had dulled my reactions.

The guard at the door glanced at me and didn’t stop me, didn’t even ask a question. I pushed the door open and stepped into the corridor, where the cooler light immediately made my face look a shade paler.

The inner hallway was much quieter than the hall. The carpet swallowed footsteps, and only the low end of the music seeped through the door behind me.

The elevator’s metal doors reflected my silhouette. I didn’t linger. I headed right—the stairwell was at the far end on that side, and that was the real destination this time.

I didn’t charge straight for the end of the corridor. As I passed the elevator, I slowed on purpose, pretending to adjust my tie, taking the opportunity to check the wall beside the elevator and the space behind a decorative painting for anything out of place.

Nothing.

A little farther on, an emergency exit sign glowed quietly at the end of the corridor. The stairwell door was heavy, with a small plaque by the handle: STAFF ONLY.

If the last bomb was here, there were three common placements: behind the stairwell door, inside the baseboard at the corner, or near the emergency sign.

When I was still four or five meters from the stairwell door, footsteps sounded behind me—familiar.

“Noah.”

I didn’t turn. I kept walking, as if I hadn’t heard.

The footsteps closed in, and in the next second a figure cut across from my rear-left, blocking the line between me and the stairwell.

Blake Hall.

His collar was loose, his face flushed from drinking, and he still had half a drink in his hand.

He looked like he’d stepped out of the banquet hall for air—except it felt like he’d followed me on purpose.

“You’re out here again?” Blake gave his glass a small shake, smiling as if he was being friendly, even though his eyes weren’t. “I saw you wandering around earlier, and now you’re out again. What exactly are you so busy with?”

I lowered my cup and answered as evenly as if he’d asked the most ordinary question in the world. “Bathroom.”

Blake tilted his head with exaggerated disbelief and jerked his chin toward the other end of the corridor. “Bathroom’s that way, buddy. You’re going the wrong direction.”

He put extra weight on the word “buddy,” like he was speaking to someone too stupid to know left from right.

Two people came out of the banquet hall—a man and a woman. They looked like the type who’d stepped out to make a call and discovered there was no reception. When they heard Blake’s voice, they slowed and looked over.

That was all it took. You didn’t need a crowd; two or three pairs of eyes were enough to make a normal person uncomfortable—especially at a company event.

I didn’t explain where the bathroom was. Correcting him would only drag the conversation out. I shifted to go around him, aiming for his left.

Blake slid with me, like a defender in a game, staying in my way.

He raised his voice slightly to make sure the people by the doorway could hear. “What are you hiding from? Don’t tell me you stole something. Or are you trying to contact someone out here? No signal in this place, and you’re still pretty eager to step out.”

The two onlookers’ expressions changed—like they’d just been handed a show.

Farther back, another head appeared in the crack of the banquet hall door, probably someone curious about the noise.

I looked at Blake, but my mind was measuring distance and time.

The second hand on my watch moved fast. 11:58 on the dot.

The stairwell door was only a few meters behind him. The last device was very likely somewhere around that door, and Blake was planted between me and it like a badly placed boulder.

I didn’t have patience to spare.

I dropped my voice so only he could hear. “Move.”

Blake blinked, then laughed—louder, like he’d finally caught me pretending to be something I wasn’t. “What? Move? Noah, what is this supposed to be? Some act? You can’t even get a sentence out in meetings, and now you’re playing tough because you’ve had a few drinks?”

The two people by the doorway traded a look, like they were scoring the scene in their heads.

Blake got more animated, stepping closer until he was almost in my face. “You don’t seriously think you’re intimidating, do you? You—”

I didn’t wait for him to finish, and I didn’t repeat myself.

My gaze went past his shoulder, to the baseboard beside the stairwell door. A small piece of tape caught the light—out of place against the edge of the carpet. I had it. The last device was there, less than three meters from us.

Which meant Blake’s position, right now, was squarely in the blast line.

I set my cup on the nearby windowsill, slow and deliberate, as if I were backing down, and looked at him again. My tone stayed calm. “You’re blocking the way.”

Blake raised his eyebrows like he’d heard a joke. “The way? Is this your hallway? Where are you trying to go, Noah? The stairwell? What, you going up to the third floor to find somewhere to sleep?”

I was out of patience. If we weren’t being watched, I would’ve knocked him out and dragged him away. Instead I said, flat and controlled, “I’m going out for a smoke. You’re in the way.”

He shifted again to keep blocking me, even angling his shoulder to make it harder to slip past.

It was pure malice—the same habit he’d leaned on for more than a year. If he wanted, he could make me look stupid in public, and he enjoyed it.

The seconds kept ticking forward. The strip of tape at the end of the corridor flashed once under the light, like a warning: no time.

Blake kept talking, louder and louder now, the words turning into open insults. “People like you are always playing innocent. Hiding at your desk during the day, hiding in corners at night—do you really think no one can tell you’re coasting? You—”

I said, “There’s a bomb.”

He froze for a beat, then burst out laughing. “A what? I didn’t catch that. Say it clearly, Noah. Is this how you’re trying to get attention now? You actually think—”

I stopped listening.

I stared at the collar of his shirt.

Less than ten seconds.

I stepped forward half a pace, like I’d finally snapped and was about to shove him aside. My right hand reached out, fingers spread, grabbing for his collar.

Blake’s pupils tightened. Maybe something in my voice finally landed—but it was too late.

He lifted a hand to block me, still sneering. “Oh, you actually dare—”

The second hand on my watch jumped past the last mark.

Somewhere deep in the corridor, out of sight, the timer hit zero. The final “beep” sounded.

The moment froze there—my hand just closing on Blake’s collar, my body already angling toward the corner, ready to drive us both down.