"What the hell is going on?" Harper repeated, louder this time, her voice trembling as it cut through the buzz of whispers around them. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her pulse thudding against her ribs.
No one answered. The air was thick with tension, the bass from the speakers muffled under the weight of silence. She looked from Logan to Damian, her gaze bouncing between their rigid forms, between Logan's clenched jaw and Damian's unreadable eyes.
And then she saw it—the smear of blood trailing from the corner of Logan's lip. He then wiped it away with the back of his hand like it meant nothing. His knuckles were red, raw. Damian's cheek bore the beginnings of a bruise, swelling faintly beneath the dim lights. The sight made Harper's stomach twist.
Her breath hitched. Her feet refused to move, but her voice came out broken. "Why are you.....?"
