The heavy wood door clicked shut.
Reid stood in the carpeted hallway of the arena's upper tier. The ambient noise of the corporate mixers bled through the walls. Muffled laughter. Clinking glasses.
Adjusting the collar of his dress jacket, he felt the stiff fabric catch against his left side. Friction sent a dull ache across the raised purple spirals hidden beneath his undershirt
. The anomaly behind his sternum throbbed in a slow, rhythmic pulse. It demanded fuel to finish knitting the torn muscle along his collarbone.
He ignored the hunger.
A man in a charcoal suit tapped a digital clipboard, stepping into his path. A glowing blue earpiece snaked around the man's jawline.
"Mr. Mercer. The VeilWard representatives require—"
Reid walked past him.
He found the concrete stairwell and began the descent
. Polished tile gave way to cracked cement. The smell of expensive champagne vanished, replaced by the sharp sting of industrial bleach and burnt ozone.
Back to the dirt.
