The atmosphere inside the Ispire Inc. didn't just change when the lobby doors turned; it curdled. It was a phenomenon the long-term employees called "The Pressure." It was a sudden, localized drop in temperature combined with a spike in static electricity that made the fine hairs on everyone's arms stand on end.
The elevators hadn't even reached the lobby before the receptionists sat up straighter, their fingers hovering over their keyboards in a state of high-alert paralysis. When the doors finally slid open, Darien Dravik stepped out like a storm made flesh.
