Four days ago, during the tech conference, before Rafael Vexley's snake bite incident.
The grand hall's applause thundered like a liberating storm, echoing off the vaulted ceilings of the tech International Conference Center as the last echoes of Mirabel's shrieks faded into the night. Crystal chandeliers swayed gently from the vibrations, casting prismatic flecks across the marble floors slick with the sweat of chaos. The air hummed with a heady mix of triumph and disbelief—guests clutching champagne flutes that had long gone warm, their faces flushed with the vicarious thrill of justice served raw. Outside, the Mediterranean breeze whispered through the open archways, carrying the salty tang of the sea, but inside, the atmosphere crackled with the aftershocks of revelation.
