ROXIE

The quiet purr of the SUV’s engine felt like a mockery after the deafening roar of the gunfire downstairs.

I sat back in the deep leather seat, my legs pulled tightly against my chest as I watched the blurred, neon lights of the New York skyline streak across the bullet-strained window glass. My hands were still shaking violently, the adrenaline that had kept me moving through the sub-basement finally draining out of my system, leaving a cold, hollow exhaustion in its place. I pulled the edges of my ruined charcoal blazer tighter around myself, the high-end fabric now smelling of gunpowder and pulverized plaster.

Across the front cabin, Garrison...