Chapter 3

The engagement ring shopping never happened. Julian got "unexpectedly called away on business." I wasn't sure if I was relieved or more stressed. The Navigator remained unhelpfully stoic, merely logging the non-event.

A few weeks later, the annual Vance Foundation Charity Gala was upon us. Held at the top of the new Vance Tower, one of Chicago's tallest skyscrapers. Julian, naturally, was the host. I was on duty as part of the emergency medical support team. A boring assignment, usually.

I tried to keep my distance from Julian. Every interaction felt like walking a tightrope. He was being... attentive. Not romantic, but considerate in a way that was deeply unsettling. He' d ask how my shift was, if I needed anything. Small things, but they were all wrong.

Ben was also on duty. "He's acting weird, right?" he whispered as we checked our medical kits.

"Weird is an understatement," I replied. "It's like he's actually seeing me for the first time. And it's terrible."

The gala was in full swing. Music, champagne, glittering dresses. Chloe Sinclair was there, of course, draped over Julian's arm like a designer scarf. She shot me a look of pure venom when she saw me in my paramedic uniform. I ignored her. My focus was on getting through the night and figuring out my next move for a rejection.

Then, it happened.

A deep, groaning sound, like the building itself was in pain. The floor vibrated. Glasses tinkled, then crashed.

A woman screamed.

Then, a deafening roar. The lights flickered, died, then emergency lights kicked in, casting eerie shadows.

Part of the ceiling on the far side of the grand ballroom, near the VIP section, tore away with a sickening crunch of metal and concrete. Dust and debris rained down.

Panic erupted.

"Code Red! Structural failure!" someone yelled into a radio.

My ER training kicked in. "Ben, with me!"

We moved towards the chaos. People were screaming, scrambling.

The Navigator' s voice, calm as ever in my head: Opportunity assessment: High-stakes environment. Potential for significant emotional distress for Target. Proceed with caution, or leverage for mission objective.

Leverage. Right.

The VIP section, where Chloe had been clinging to Julian, was partially collapsed. Fire alarms blared. I could smell smoke.

Firefighters were already on their way up, but the elevators were out, and the stairwells near that section were reportedly compromised.

"We need to get to them," I said to the fire captain who was trying to establish a command post amidst the chaos. "We're paramedics, we can assess and stabilize."

"It's too unstable, nurse. We're trying to find a secure access route."

"There might not be time," I argued. Chloe was in there. If she was hurt, Julian would be... well, Julian. But this was also a chance. A terrible, dangerous chance.

"I know a service route," I said, a desperate plan forming. "It's tight, probably unstable, but it might get us closer." It was a route I' d noticed on the building schematics during a pre-event safety briefing.

The captain looked at me, then at the groaning structure. "If you think you can make it, go. But if it looks too bad, you pull back. Understood?"

"Understood."

The Navigator: Risk assessment: High. Probability of achieving rejection: Moderate to High, dependent on Target' s emotional state and subsequent interaction.

"I'm going," I told Ben. "Stay here, coordinate with the first responders."

He grabbed my arm. "Ava, be careful. This isn't part of the plan."

"The plan went out the window when he said 'alright'," I said grimly, pulling on a discarded firefighter's helmet.

I headed towards the unstable section, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs.