Lyra's muscles tensed as she faced the wall of reporters. Their hungry eyes gleamed with anticipation, cameras poised to capture her downfall. She didn't care anymore. Let them see her fight. Let them paint her as the villain they'd already decided she was.
The female reporter who'd warned her earlier stepped back, sensing the imminent explosion. Colette's theatrical sobs provided the perfect soundtrack to the circus unfolding in the narrow hallway.
"Last chance," Lyra said, her voice cutting through the murmurs. "Move aside."
No one budged. Instead, cameras inched closer, microphones extended further toward her face.
Fine. She balled her fists.
Just as she prepared to shove her way through, the atmosphere shifted. A commotion rippled through the back of the crowd. Reporters turned, their attention suddenly diverted.
"What's happening?" someone called out.
Then the sea of bodies parted.
