Several days had slipped by since Roman last laid eyes on her, and his mind was a turbulent sea, continually crashing against the shores of memory.
Even in the meeting room, surrounded by the sterile air and sharp, flickering fluorescent lights, he found himself adrift in thoughts punctuated by the wretched sounds of that night—the echo of gunshots slicing through the stillness, the sickening roll of metal as the car plunged into chaos.
He shut his eyes tightly, fingers pressing against his temples as if to ward off the haunting images, but they clung to him like shadows that refused to disperse.
The oppressive atmosphere shifted when the door swung open with a creak, and Mr. Golden strode into the meeting room, his demeanor as rigid as the suit he wore.
