"Where did they go?" Lucian asked, fishing his phone out of his pocket with impatient fingers.
Marlowe hesitated, her brows creasing. "Darrell said Serena told him she wanted to eat out tonight, and he was driving her there. He didn't specifically say where they would be going."
Lucian's jaw clenched, a vein ticking at the side of his temple.
He turned away as he dialed Darrell's number, the screen glowing in the dim light of the hallway. "Those Katharistiká people are out there, blending in with protesters," he muttered darkly. "The protest might even just be a cover for something more sinister."
If they recognized him, then there was no doubt they would recognize her.
And if they did…
The phone rang once.
Twice.
Three times.
No answer.
Lucian disconnected and called again, pacing now like a caged animal. Still no response.
"Come on, Darrell," he growled. "Pick the damn phone."
Another attempt. Still nothing.
