When Nesa stormed out of the elevator, clipboard abandoned on the floor, her sharp eyes darted across the lobby. Years of working under the crushing pressure of Fortis's constant PR disasters had trained her to read a room in seconds.
Two guards writhed on the tiles, groaning, clutching at ribs and jaws. Their armor had failed them. Beyond them, Chief Nonto and Darno stood coiled like springs, fists clenched, shoulders braced for violence.
And then there was the red-haired boy.
Nesa froze for half a heartbeat, her thoughts racing. Red hair wasn't common, not in this city, not in this country. Warma's warning echoed fresh in her mind: "He may look young, but he's important. You'll know him by his hair."
It couldn't be coincidence. Not today. Not here.
Her jaw tightened. She already had enough headaches cleaning up Darno's messes; she wasn't about to let him destroy the single most important meeting in Fortis's history.
