Micah was on the floor. That much he was keenly aware of.
Cold marble pressed against his palms, the faint grit of dust clinging to his skin, his long hair tangled messily over his shoulders. He had meant to fall, every movement, every stagger, every fake slip had been carefully calculated to sell the scene, but lying here now, watching everything spiral out of control, he felt something dangerously close to genuine disbelief.
No. Not disbelief.
Shock. Pure, unfiltered, bone-deep shock.
Because the person currently beating the absolute shit out of Noas Lobart was not who Micah had expected.
He had assumed it would be Clyde. If not him, it would be Darcy.
Why was Archie here instead?
This wasn't how it was supposed to go.
Archie's fist slammed into Noas's face again, snapping the man's head to the side with a wet crack. Noas staggered, barely managing to stay on his feet before Archie grabbed him by the collar and drove his knee up into his stomach.
