The JTC Management press room felt more suffocating than usual that afternoon. It wasn't a mechanical failure of the air conditioning, but rather the sheer weight of a thousand staring eyes and the synchronized hum of countless rolling cameras. Camera flashes erupted in relentless succession, a jagged, artificial rain that refused to let up.
Scarlett sat bolt upright. Her back was a rigid line, but her shoulders were knots of tension. She kept her hands clasped tightly in her lap, fingers digging into her own skin as if to anchor her soul to her body. Her breathing was steady, or more accurately, forced into a hollow rhythm.
Beside her, Julian appeared calm. Too calm.
