The air in the FHCN's holding room was a suffocating shroud, thick with tension that clung to the skin like damp fog. The sterile walls seemed to pulse with the weight of the moment, the fluorescent light flickering faintly, casting jagged shadows that danced across Marisa Vaughn's face.
She stood frozen, her phone pressed so tightly against her ear that her knuckles glowed white, her hand trembling as if it might shatter the device. Her once-smug smile, sharp enough to cut through any defense, had crumbled into a mask of raw worry, her lips stuttering, her steel-gray eyes wide with a fear that clawed at her from the inside, unraveling the confidence she'd worn like armor.
