Part 1 – The 47th Floor The first thing Maya Collins noticed about the 47th floor was the silence. Not the kind that came from focused minds or noise-cancelling walls. This silence was thick. Artificial. Like the air itself held its breath. The elevator pinged softly behind her, then slid shut with a whisper. She turned to face the floor. Rows of polished glass offices stretched in clean symmetry. Frosted doors. Sleek desks. Not a single paper out of place. No chatter. No laughter. Just the rhythmic hum of overhead LEDs and the distant murmur of printers working alone. Maya…