The chaos on the security monitors was silent, but it was the loudest thing I had ever seen. Liam’s guttural scream was reduced to a frantic opening and closing of his mouth, a silent movie of a man being torn apart from the inside out. The state troopers, who had been decorative fixtures moments before, were now a wall of navy blue muscle and grim duty, their professionalism a stark contrast to his unraveling. They didn’t draw their weapons. They didn’t need to. They simply absorbed his flailing momentum, pinning his arms with practiced, impersonal efficiency.
He was still shouting, his face contorted, a mask of disbelief and incandescent rage. He was shouting my name. He was shouting about conspiracies, about Victor, about justice. But the words had lost their power. They were just nois
