WNDR5684
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The Man Who Burns
The elevator doors sealed at midnight, and the only man standing between you and the exit has a jawline that could cut glass and eyes that have been on you since the moment you walked in. Damon Voss does not beg — he negotiates, he maneuvers, he corners — and right now he has cornered you at the edge of a rooftop pool fifty floors above the city with a keycard dangling from two fingers like a dare. Forty-eight hours. One keycard. Zero exits — and a second man already watching from the shadows, ready to make everything infinitely more complicated.
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