Amara's POV

The sun felt unnaturally bright as I stepped out of the Uber, a harsh contrast to the knot of dread that was tightening in my stomach. The air was filled with a low, angry roar of voices, and my gaze immediately fell on the crowd of people gathered in front of Dorian's office building. They were holding signs with bold, damning letters: "Justice for Michael!" and "Dorian is a Killer!"

My heart sank. This was worse than I thought. This was a public spectacle, a full-blown ...