Marcus Holt's face went the color of a stop sign.
"Excuse me?" The word came out strangled, like she'd physically reached into his chest and squeezed.
Sloane held her ground. Chin up. Heart hammering. Every survival instinct she owned was screaming at her to backpedal, apologize, smooth it over — and she ignored every single one.
"You heard me," she said quietly.
Then someone laughed.
Not a polite, muffled laugh. A real one — short, sharp, involuntary. Like it had escaped before the owner could stop it.
Marcus spun toward the sound, fury already reshaping his face into something ugly. "Who the—"
He stopped.
The color drained out of him so fast Sloane could actually watch it happen.
She turned.
Declan Pierce stood at the far end of the corridor.
He hadn't made a sound. Hadn't ann
