Malick stood frozen for a heartbeat after Paul Roy's decree, the old man's words still echoing in the sudden silence that had fallen over the ballroom. Then, as if a spell had been broken, the clinking of glasses and buzz of conversation resumed below the hollow soundtrack of music. To Malik, every sound felt muffled and distant, as if he were hearing everything from underwater.
Slowly, his eyes scanned the crowd, taking in the disdainful smirks and whispered judgments. The Roys and their allies watched him like vultures circling wounded prey. To them, he was just a momentary disruption. Just a cleaner who had forgotten his place and a ghost that should have stayed in the shadows.
With his chest tight and his shirt clinging wetly to his skin, Malik turned and walked away without a word.
