The warehouse, which had been filled moments ago with the sounds of struggle and shouted commands and boots striking concrete, went completely and utterly still.
And in that stillness, in the center of all of it, Lovi stood frozen.
The phone that had been in his hand - the phone with the send button, the phone that represented every piece of leverage he had assembled over months of careful, calculating work - slipped from his fingers.
It hit the concrete floor with a sharp, hollow crack that echoed through the silence like a gunshot.
And Lovi did not even look down at it.
Because Lovi recognized that tattoo.
