At that moment, every head in the warehouse turned in the direction of that voice with the kind of synchronized, involuntary movement that happens when a sound carries enough authority to override individual will entirely.
Cora turned too.
And something happened in her mind the moment she turned - a flicker of recognition, faint at first and then sharpening rapidly, the way a blurred image sharpens when you adjust the lens. That voice. She knew that voice. She had heard it before, in contexts that felt almost absurdly removed from this warehouse, from this night, from everything that was currently unfolding around her.
Then the woman came into view, and the flicker of recognition became a certainty that hit Cora like cold water.
Oliver's secretary.
