For the first time that day, fear seized Dorian.
They're actually going to kill me.
He looked around wildly. Cameras were everywhere, reporters packed tightly around the entrance, their phones raised, their microphones thrust forward. Dozens of people were recording him from every angle.
And then Dorian understood.
They couldn't kill him here.
Not with this many cameras watching.
His fear disappeared beneath calculation almost instantly. He seized the nearest reporter by the arm, making the man stumble toward him.
"You want an interview?"
The reporter blinked.
Dorian released him and turned toward the cameras, forcing his expression into something approaching composure. "Ask me your questions. Right here."
That was all it took.
Another reporter surged forward.
"Mr. Blackwood, did Catherine Preston really—"
"Ask me."
Three more cameras appeared. Then ten. The reporters smelled blood, and within seconds, a dozen microphones were being thrust toward him.
