The person standing at the doorway was none other than President Valeska who stood in the doorway like a monument of authority. Tall, severe, with hair pulled back in a style that suggested she had no patience for frivolity. Her two bodyguards flanked her—professional, alert, hands positioned where they could reach weapons in under a second.
She looked at Elliot first, taking in his confused expression. Then at me. Then past me to where the girls were partially visible.
Her gaze was clinical. Assessing. The look of someone cataloging threats and weaknesses automatically.
Everyone behind me was internally panicking. I could feel it without looking—the way their breathing changed, the barely audible shifts of weight, the tension that came from being discovered by literally the worst person who could have found us.
