From outside the vehicle came a cacophony of screaming, sirens, and the deafening crash of collapsing buildings.

I pressed against the window, straining to see.

The three-story structure on the east side of the hotel collapsed entirely, gray dust and smoke sweeping into the street like a giant wave.

Fire alarms shrieked relentlessly.

The bomb had gone off early.

Through the smoke, I saw people stumbling out. Some were clutching their heads, while others had blood streaming down their faces.

The command vehicle door was yanked open.

Captain Hunter stood there, covered in dust, the radio in his hand screeching with panicked voices.

"Three floors collapsed on the east side! People are trapped! Fire rescue can't get in! The load-bearing structure is unstable! Reporting to the command center, at least 47 people are confirmed trapped!"

My phone buzzed violently in my pocket.

It was Captain Baxter.

Captain Hunter hesitated for a moment, then pressed the answer button for me and put it on speaker.

"Julius, why the hell did it take you so long to pick up? Luther's last attempt triggered the accelerator—the timer jumped straight from eight minutes to zero!

"He was thrown 65 feet by the blast. Both his hands were blown to pieces, and three of his ribs were broken. He's in emergency surgery right now! Answer me! Where the hell are you?"

I opened my mouth, but no words came out.

After all, what could I say? That I was right outside the hotel, cuffed inside the command vehicle?

Captain Baxter didn't wait for me to answer. His voice suddenly dropped to a whisper.

"Julius, I just got word. There's a six-year-old girl who didn't make it out of the collapse zone. Her name is Tammy Ferrell. She was waiting to perform in the third-floor ballroom and got separated from the crowd during the evacuation.

"Her teacher went back to find her but couldn't. They're detecting vital signs under the rubble, and they're fading. Fire rescue says the load-bearing structure is too unstable. Any rescue attempt could trigger a secondary collapse.

"But if they don't go in, she won't last an hour."

I closed my eyes. Just as I was about to speak, Christine's voice drifted in from outside the command vehicle.

She was leaning against the vehicle, taking a selfie. Behind her, thick smoke billowed from the collapsed hotel.

She tilted her phone to a 45-degree angle, pursed her lips, and flashed a peace sign.

"Christine, what are you doing?" I roared.

Christine glanced back at me and rolled her eyes.

"What's the big deal about taking a photo and posting it on Instagram? This is the first time in my life I've ever been this close to an actual explosion. It would be a shame not to commemorate it."

Captain Hunter snatched the phone from her hand.

"This is a crime scene! What do you think you're doing?"

"Ow, be careful. This is a limited edition phone case."

I stared at Christine's innocent-looking face and suddenly felt a chill run down my spine.

Hundreds of people were just blown up, dozens were trapped in the rubble, and a six-year-old girl was slowly dying beneath the wreckage. Yet, all Christine cared about was whether the angle of her selfie was flattering enough.

Just then, another low and steady voice came through the phone.

"Officer Kinney, I'm Gerald Ferrell. The child trapped in the rubble is my granddaughter."

Captain Hunter's face went pale at the name Gerald Ferrell.

Gerald was a former high-ranking official in the national security system. Though retired, he still served as a senior security advisor. Half the people in the system addressed him as "Chief".

"I've heard the situation from Herman. Someone prevented you from entering the scene to disarm the bomb, and that led to the explosion. I only have one question—who is this person, and where are they?"