The corridor was quiet compared to what was on the other side of the door.
Liam stood in it and looked at the door and listened to the crowd through it and took stock of what his body was doing, which was several things simultaneously, none of them fully under his control.
He looked down at himself.
The suit Elena had designed was black, fitted at the shoulders and through the chest, the fabric carrying a specific quality that moved with him rather than against him.
Two white stripes ran from each shoulder downward, clean and deliberate, curving slightly at the sides, meeting nowhere, existing as their own statement.
The material was dark enough to absorb the light rather than reflect it, the white stripes the only thing that caught anything, which made the whole thing look like it had been designed specifically for a dark room with eyes on it.
Which it had been.
