Hours earlier.
Vance's grip tightened around his phone as the call ended, the screen dimming in his hand. For a moment, he just stood there, jaw set, breath measured. He closed his eyes briefly, drawing in the cool night air.
He had to fix this. That was his job. And he had never failed. He wasn't about to start now.
He slipped the phone into his pocket and lifted his gaze to the street ahead. The tension had thickened.
What had started as noise was now something sharper, demanding, restless, ready to tip.
"Come out, Saunders! Come out!" The chant rolled through the crowd in waves, louder each time, bouncing off the surrounding houses.
Phone lights flickered like scattered stars, and camera crews pushed forward, reporters speaking rapidly into microphones, their voices cutting through the chaos.
Vance scanned the scene, his eyes moving quickly.
