Seizing the moment, Selina hurried down the stairs with Terry by her side as a shield against any hidden threat. She didn't care about the slime on her face or her smeared clothes. Her wedged heels clicked sharply against the concrete, sounding like a countdown.
She walked through the fading chaos not as a victim, but as a woman whose every fiber burned with a thirst for justice. It rose in her chest like a mounting storm.
Her head dipped a little, yet she forced herself through, even as the world tried to crush her.
A cab pulled up exactly as she reached the curb. She slipped inside. It was Jerry.
As Jerry drove away from the hostile studio, he handed her a clean handkerchief without a word.
Selina accepted quietly, cleaning those stains on her.
Back on the steps, Leah remained with her arms crossed, scrutinizing the men who had dispersed the crowd. There were ten of them, and they moved with a terrifying discipline that didn't belong to standard security.
