Thousands of commuters and tourists screamed in unison, ducking, covering their heads, and scattering like ants under a magnifying glass. The paparazzi dropped their cameras, trampling over each other to sprint toward the exits.
"DOWN! GET HER DOWN!"
Damien's private military contractors moved with instantaneous precision. They swarmed Aria, tackling her roughly to the polished marble floor and piling their bodies directly over her small frame.
Aria lay crushed beneath the weight of three, armed mercenaries.
Her face was pressed directly against the dirty, sticky floor of the transit hub. It smelled like spilled coffee and old shoes.
But hidden beneath the curtain of her messy, rose-gold hair, where not a single camera lens or terrified bystander could see...
Aria was smiling.
It was a small, incredibly smug, victorious smile.
