Xavier shut the door of his apartment behind him, leaning against it for a breath that came out steady, controlled—the exact opposite of the frantic act he had put on outside. He peeled off his blood-stained jacket, dropped it on the floor, and poured himself a glass of water, sipping like he'd just come back from a long day at the office instead of a staged double-death in a penitentiary.
Outside, though, the world was losing its mind.
Every holo-feed, every broadcast, every underground forum had lit up at once. Breaking news banners blared across the city:
"Alexander Sterling dead inside Celestial Penitentiary."
"Commissioner Dominic Hart confirmed deceased."
"Xavier survives assassination attempt."
The storm hit in waves. Anchors shouted over feeds. Panels of experts argued whether Alexander's suicide was staged or real. But none of it mattered against the tidal wave of public opinion.
