I thumbed the corner of the phone screen.
Mic: Off.
Camera: Blocked.
The stream went dark, but the watcher count kept ticking up in the background. They were hungry for answers. Hell, I was hungry for answers.
I slipped the device into my coat pocket and stepped around the fencing, down into the skeletal remains of the building.
The dust was fine and pale, clinging to the soles of my boots like ash. Crows had nested on the twisted beams above, black shadows against a gunmetal sky. I moved slowly, deliberately, weaving between slabs and rebar until I reached the area where the man had been working.
He didn't look up at first.
Bent low over a cracked section of concrete, he pounded rhythmically with a sledgehammer, eyes hidden beneath a worn gray cap. He was rather young, mid-twenties maybe, yet his body was wiry and taut like a piano wire ready to snap. His posture was textbook, too precise, too professional like an expert who had been born into this profession.
