Page 44 of Stars in Umbra
The following morning, Rina’s flyer descended through the turbulence of voices, a wall of noise swelling from the protestersgathered below.
Placards thrust upward in defiance, their cardboard canvases emblazoned with furious scrawls: ‘Stop the bloodshed,’ ‘Falasian lives matter too,’ ‘Military justice, not civilian massacre.’
The air hummed with a raw, volatile energy.
Her craft touched down on the front entrance’s landing pad. She stepped out with her bags and engaged the autopilot, sending it off toward the hangar.
Gritting her teeth, she moved toward the sliding doors, just as the mob surged forward, a tidal wave of human fury.
Faces contorted with rage, voices cracked with frustration.
A man leaned so close she felt the spit of his words on her cheek. ‘You military folk disgust us. You allowed this! You let them slaughter innocent people!’
Her spine stiffened with a cold resolve, but she forced herself to keep moving.
Her jaw was set, and her eyes flicked over the placards, taking in their message.
These were Falasian loyalists, enraged about the civilian carnage.
They wanted accountability; hell, they were demanding it. It was their right, and privately she agreed with them.
Still, she kept her head high, her shoulders squared, and pushed through the angry sea of bodies, moving toward the stairs that led into the lobby a few flights away.
She almost made it clear when she lifted her gaze and froze.
Mo stood on the landing above, all in black, one hand braced against the rail, his narrowed gaze.
He was looming over the scene, menacing, dark, and lethal, yet he wore the part with ease. Kainan must have co-opted him to the conference security team.
The thought warmed her even as their eyes locked across the churning crowd.
Her brow arched in silent question, and his body shifted, angling toward her as if he’d been waiting only for her.
She took the first step upward when the protester from before broke through the crowd. His hands shoved hard between her shoulder blades.
She stumbled, twisted, and almost lost her balance. She spun, ready to draw her sidearm, when the man lunged again.
The blow caught her jaw, a jarring impact that snapped her head sideways.
She stumbled back, her vision flashing white, a galaxy of stars exploding behind her eyes.
But before she hit the steps, a blur of white-hot energy tore toward her, holding her up.
Mo.
‘You OK?’ he growled.
She nodded.
He pushed her against a wall and turned to face the explosive scene.
The protesters kept coming, and he slammed the lead attacker to the ground like a missile, the man crumpling under the sheer velocity of the impact.
Mo stood over him, his chest heaving, his eyes lit with a feral glow.
His voice cracked like a whip, commanding the guards who rushed in to support him. ‘Arrest him. Now. Drag him out.’
Another protester broke free and dove at her.
