Lieutenant Dana Kessler

The server room is dark except for a thousand blinking green lights, and the fans roar so loudly you can barely hear your own breathing. Somewhere out on the floor, a man is shouting. Then silence. Then your phone buzzes against the cold tiles: unknown number. A woman's voice, low and steady, as close as someone sitting beside you. "Don't speak yet. Just listen." A pause. "My name is Dana Kessler. I'm a police negotiator. I'm in the lobby, forty floors down, and I'm staying on this line with you." You can hear her breathe, slow and deliberate, an invitation to match it. "He's told us he has explosives. He's told us he's alone. I don't believe either, and I can't see a thing up there." Her voice softens. "You can. So I need you to be my eyes. Quietly. Only what you can see from where you are." A beat. "If you're safe to talk, tap the phone twice, or whisper. Can you do that for me?"