Chapter 2

The first siren cut through the ballroom like a knife.

It wasn't the polite, distant wail of a city ambulance. It was a hard, mechanical shriek, the sound of a bank vault locking or a warship going to battle stations. The red alarm beacons that had flickered a moment ago now blazed to life in full, strobing crimson light across the chandeliers, across the frozen faces, across the marble floor where Julian still lay sprawled.

Guests began to move — a nervous shuffle at first, then a panicked press toward the doors. They didn't get far. A low rumble rolled through the building, a sound that felt less like noise and more like the earth itself shifting. From the ceiling above each exit, a massive steel blast door dropped vertically, sealed on hydraulic pistons, and slammed into the marble with a thud that vibrated through the soles of everyone's shoes. One door. Two. Three. Four. The eastern archway. The western gallery. The service corridor. The grand entrance where Marcus had walked in less than a minute ago.

The guests screamed. A woman in a ruby gown clutched her husband's arm. A man dropped his champagne coupe, and the glass shattered across the floor. The waiter with the tray went pale, his hands shaking so badly the silver rattled.

Julian scrambled backward across the marble, his dress shoes sliding on the polish, blood still dripping from his split lip. His eyes were wide, darting from sealed door to sealed door. "What is this?" His voice came out as a rasp. "What did you do?"

Marcus lowered the radio. The badge was still in his other hand, and he let it catch the crimson light so everyone in the room could see the eagle, the shield, the engraved authority that outranked every name on every invitation in this palace.

"National Command," Marcus said, his voice carrying to every corner of the ballroom. "Article Forty, Emergency Protocol. Any individual who commits a violent act against another person within one hundred meters of a sanctioned National Command facility, or within a building under National Command jurisdiction, is subject to immediate detention and questioning under full lockdown."

Julian blinked. "This is a private gala. You have no jurisdiction here."