The courtroom, once a place of order and debate, was now a hollow shell of panic. The red light of the emergency sirens splashed against the mahogany walls, a rhythmic, pulsing reminder of the clock ticking in my chest.
145 bpm.
I couldn't breathe. The recording of Leo’s voice was a loop in my brain, a jagged blade cutting through my hope. I'm going to give you hers. My sister. My twin. The only part of my past that Adrian hadn't managed to replace.
"Adrian," I choked out, my hand grasping his lapel until my knuckles turned white. "He has her. He’s going to—"
"No." Adrian’s voice was no longer the voice of the repentant defendant. It was the voice of the man who had built the Obsidian Mansion. It was cold, metallic, and absolute.
He turned to the lead detective, ignoring his lawyers.
