Amara didn't break her stride. She moved with a serrated edge, her flat shoes clicking a sharp, impatient rhythm against the polished floor. She didn't bother to look back as she threw the question over her shoulder; she didn't have to.
The assistant, a woman who had once worked with her and knew Amara's daily life, who knew her moods as well as her own, faltered. For one heartbeat, she was a statue, caught in the wake of Amara's momentum. Then, the answer spilled out, reflexive and immediate, born from a muscle memory of service.
"The boardroom." Of course. Amara didn't say another word. She turned. And walked. The hallway seemed shorter than she remembered. Or maybe it was just the way she moved now. Purposeful. Unstoppable. Julian kept pace beside her. Close. Ready.
James and the guards followed. The doors to the boardroom loomed ahead. Voices filtered through. Tense. Urgent. Desperate. And then. BANG.
