The Midtown construction site was a skeleton of steel and concrete–the future headquarters of Croft Media. Victoria walked the girders in a hard hat and safety vest, flanked by the foreman and Elias Graves, who was “observing workflow.”
The afternoon sun was relentless. The smell of hot tar and welding fumes hung heavy in the air.
“And the server farms will be located on the sub-levels for cooling,” the foreman explained, pointing down into the pit.
Victoria nodded, but the motion made the world swim. The horizon tilted forty-five degrees. The heat felt like a physical weight pressing down on her skull. The nausea that had been simmering all morning boiled over.
*Breathe,* she commanded herself. *Do not faint.*
She stumbled, her hand grasping for a support beam. The vertigo washed over her in a black wave.
“Mrs. Croft?” the foreman asked, reaching out to steady her.
“I’m fine,” Victoria gasped, straightening up instantly. She forced the color back into her cheeks through sheer will. “Just… a loose rivet on the floor. Watch your step.”
She looked up. Elias Graves was standing three feet away. He wasn’t looking at the floor. He was looking at her, a small, predatory smirk playing on his lips. He checked something off on his clipboard.
He had seen the sway. He knew. The Vulture was circling.