The ascent up the glass face of the Wynn Macau was pure agony.
The wind whipping off the South China Sea had picked up since I left. It hit me in gusts that tried to push me sideways off the building. It tore at my tactical suit and made the ascender line vibrate against my harness. Every pull felt heavier than the last.
My muscles were already cooked from the twenty-nine flights of stairs in Taipa. My shoulders burned. My forearms were on fire. Lactic acid sat in my biceps like lead.
I ignored it.
I kept my eyes focused on the glass in front of me, ignoring the terrifying, fifty-story drop below me. One hand over the other. Breathe. Pull. Lock. Repeat. The city lights blurred below. Cars looked like ants.
"You're approaching the forty-ninth floor," Claire whispered in my ear. Her voice was barely there. "The Shadow's suite. Keep your profile tight against the mullions."
I slowed my ascent. Inch by inch.
