Xavier didn't even think about it—he shoved the glass aside and was on his feet in one motion. Jason followed right after, his larger frame cutting through the booth's drapes as they pushed toward the stairwell. The music hadn't stopped, but the lower floor was buzzing with the sound of chairs scraping, men shouting, and one voice—Lyra's—that cut sharp enough to send a chill through anyone within earshot.
They stormed down the stairs, Jason's hand instinctively brushing his coat where he kept steel, while Xavier's eyes scanned every angle like a predator zeroing in. The crowd was parting down below, creating a messy circle near the washroom hallway. Some guests were craning their necks to watch, others keeping distance, but the air was heavy with tension.
