The world didn't end with a bang. It ended with the rhythmic clink, clink, clink of a silver spoon against a crystal wine glass.
We weren't in the cathedral anymore. The transition had been a blur of Kieran's hand crushing mine, the roar of Elias ordering the doors barred, and the blinding, strobe-light attack of the paparazzi. Now, we were in a room.
I didn't cry. Tears felt like a luxury for someone who still had hope. Instead, I was slumped on the velvet couch. I felt heavy. Numb. My gaze was fixed on a single loose thread on my bodice, because if I looked up, I'd have to face the truth.
"Someone is going to explain to me what the hell is going on. Now."
Kieran's voice didn't just boom; it vibrated in the marrow of my bones. He was standing in the center of the room, his suit discarded, his white shirt sleeves rolled up as if he were preparing to wash his hands in someone's blood.
