The elevator ride to the Spire took three minutes.
Vane spent the first minute leaning against the glass wall. He tried to massage the cramp out of his left calf. He spent the second minute checking his reflection in the chrome doors. He looked like he hadn't slept in three days. That was an accurate assessment. He spent the third minute trying to calm his heart rate.
He wasn't afraid of the Headmistress. He was afraid of what she represented.
Evangeline was the ceiling. In a world of monsters, she was the one holding the leash.
The elevator chimed. The doors slid open.
Vane stepped out into humidity. The top of the Spire wasn't an office. It was a greenhouse. The air was thick and smelled of wet earth and crushed mint. Sunlight streamed in through the glass dome. It was unfiltered and blindingly bright compared to the gloom of the lower levels.
