In the afternoon, more journalists arrived. Security kept them at bay, but every time I pushed the glass door, I could smell the collective anxiety like ozone before a storm. I worked until the blueprints ceased to be lines and became spaces again: light, echoes, lives inside. That was my truth. No one could touch me there.

When I left, the sky was the color of graphite. A dark sedan was waiting for me. The driver rolled down the window.

"Engineer Del Valle asked me to take you," he said.

For a