The door slammed behind them with a loud, metallic clunk, and the echo rang through the tiny room like a gunshot.
Lian flinched so hard his shoulder hit the wall.
His heart was still running miles ahead of him, still in the hallway where security practically dragged them, still in the sea of flashing cameras, still drowning in shouts from reporters who didn't know the meaning of mercy. His pulse was loud in his ears—louder than the crowd ever was. The air tasted like panic, sharp and metallic. His legs shook with leftover adrenaline.
He had no time to breathe.
One second, he was pressed against Rian's side while bodyguards shielded them.
The next—
This.
Silence.
A tiny room with artificially warm yellow lights and furniture that felt too soft compared to how harsh the world outside had been. A faint smell of dust. A couch pushed against the wall, a low table, and a single vent humming overhead.
A panic room.
A place meant for emergencies.
A place he never wanted to be.
