The corridor went silent.
Not the kind of silence that came from peace.
The kind that came when reality shifted beneath your feet.
When everything you thought you understood suddenly cracked.
Clara's small finger remained raised.
Shaking.
Terrified.
Pointing directly at Harold.
The silver-haired federal commander.
The man who had arrived with tactical teams.
The man who had supposedly come to help.
The man everyone trusted.
The man who knew Lucian's grandfather.
The man who knew Dorian.
The man who knew Aaron Mercer.
Harold stood motionless.
Rainwater dripped from his coat.
Emergency lights flashed across his face.
Red.
Then dark.
Then red again.
Nobody moved.
Nobody breathed.
Lucian instinctively stepped closer to Allison and Clara.
Roman's expression hardened immediately.
Theo's hand moved toward his weapon.
Dorian actually laughed.
One short, ugly laugh.
Like someone watching a train wreck he'd predicted hours ago.
Then Harold sighed.
Deeply.
