In the center of the room, seated at a large table, was a man. He was nursing a drink, swirling it lazily in his glass.
The glass caught the light from a nearby lamp, casting a brief, shimmering reflection across the surface. Julian's breath caught in his throat when he recognized the man sitting there.
The familiar face that had been on every screen, in every paper—Ross Oakley, the man who had become a household name.
But something about the way he was sitting there, so casually, his posture relaxed yet commanding, sent a shiver down Julian's spine.
This was not the recent local celebrity they had seen on television. This was someone far more dangerous, far more unpredictable.
April's grip tightened on Julian's hand, but he didn't flinch. They had both seen him on the news too many times and in the school grounds also to mistake him for anyone else.
"You!" they both exclaimed, almost in unison, their voices echoing in the large room.
