The Next Morning
The press conference was set up in the main conference room—podium, microphones, camera crews from every major outlet. The room was packed beyond capacity, reporters jostling for position, the energy electric.
Lily stood backstage with Jacob, Emma, and Ethan, trying to calm her nerves.
"You don't have to do this," Jacob said for the tenth time. "I can handle the press conference alone."
"We're in this together, remember?" Lily adjusted her sling—the doctors had insisted she wear it for another week to support her healing shoulder. "Besides, they want to hear from me. The victim who survived."
"I hate that you're a victim."
"I prefer 'survivor.' Sounds more badass."
Emma checked her watch. "Five minutes. Are we ready?"
"Define ready," Lily muttered.
"Conscious and able to speak. That's literally the bar right now."
"Then I'm ready."
