16

White smoke crept into every corner, filling every nook and cranny of the soundproof room on the second floor of the old warehouse. Aaron Vargas coughed, pressing a handkerchief to his nose and mouth, while his eyes, stinging from tear gas, continued to stare at the television screen, which was now static again. Henry's smirk seemed to linger there, mocking the helplessness of the man who usually controlled everything. "Sir! The ventilation... this ventilation is one-way! We can't open it from the inside!" Eric shouted hoarsely amid his increasingly violent coughing. The assistant tried to hit the window glass with the butt of his gun, but the sound of the impact only produced a dull metallic clang. The glass was coated with transparent steel—a trap designed with great precision. Aaron felt his chest tighten, not only because of the gas that was beginning to poison his lungs, but also because of the rage burning inside him. He had underestimated Henry. He had allowed his anger over Lau