Windsor's POV
The room plunged into deeper shadows as footsteps approached. Zion tensed against me, his gaze fixed on the sound of someone entering.
Mr. Sinclair.
Even in the dim light, I could make out his distinctive outline before the computer monitor's glow revealed his angular features. He moved with practiced ease, the kind of confidence that belonged to someone who owned every corner of this place. Walking straight to the terminal, his fingers began entering a password.
Click. Click. Click. Enter.
The screen burst to life.
Something compelled me to lean forward, peering through the tiny space between the desk legs. What I saw made my stomach drop. Countless thumbnail images filled the display, all showing exposed flesh.
Suddenly, explicit sounds poured from the speakers. Zion went rigid beside me, his arm instinctively tightening around my waist.
