The hotel lobby was nearly empty, the late-night hum of air conditioning and distant traffic the only sounds punctuating the quiet. Sheila clutched her folder tightly, the crisp papers inside a reminder of the press statements she had prepared, the careful wording that might shield her from Carter’s next move. Each step toward the elevator felt heavier than the last, as though the weight of anticipation pressed against her chest.
Atticus trailed slightly behind, quiet, his presence both comforting and unnerving. Every so often, her gaze flicked to him, noting the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw clenched when he believed she wasn’t looking. He was watching, always alert, as if he could sense the currents of manipulation that Carter had set in motion.
They reached the elevator, t
