Aria didn't move for a long time after Damien left the control room.
She stood there, staring at the screens showing Liam pacing like a caged animal, shouting her name with the desperation of a man who suddenly realized he had thrown away something precious.
Too late.
Way too late.
A part of her—the wounded part—almost felt sorry for him.
But the rest of her was done feeling small.
She exhaled shakily and stepped back from the monitors. The tension in her chest eased just a fraction.
Liora appeared in the doorway, hands clasped politely. "Aria? Mr. Blackwood asked me to escort you to the East Wing while he handles the gate situation."
"Handles," Aria repeated. "Meaning…?"
Liora winced. "He didn't explain, and to be honest, I've learned not to ask."
Fair enough. Damien seemed like the kind of man you didn't interrogate unless you had a death wish.
Aria followed Liora down the hall, nerves buzzing.
"What's in the East Wing?" she asked.
