"Amelia—!"
Kendrick's voice cracked across the marble expanse of the lobby, no longer the composed authority of a president, but the raw sound of a man who had just realized he might lose something irreplaceable.
Amelia's heels struck the polished floor in frantic rhythm as she bolted toward the exit. Her shoulders were stiff, spine straight in that way Kendrick knew too well — her don't cry, don't look back posture. It was the posture she wore when she refused to let anyone see her break.
Woobin reacted instantly, alarm slicing through his usually impassive expression. "Missus—!"
The automatic doors slid shut behind her with a soft mechanical hiss.
Silence crashed down.
The kind of silence that follows an explosion.
Kendrick stood in the center of the lobby, frozen, the lacquered l
