A D R I AN
By the time I take my seat in the boardroom, the war is already circling like blood in the water.
The glass walls make the chamber feel exposed, the ocean glittering bright and merciless behind the investors’ heads. Lantern Tide banners ripple in the breeze outside, but inside, the air is thick with perfume, coffee, and suspicion.
Marina stands at the head of the table, her voice sweet as poison. “We regret the confusion surrounding Dr. Quinn’s credentials. The matter has been clarified.”
Confusion. Always confusion with her.
But the whispers don’t stop. They hiss along the polished table—fraud, liability, negligence. Some of these men and women don’t care if a boy almost died at the lagoon. They care about lawsuits, press, share price. And tonight, they care about whethe
