Lucian's POV ...
I stepped out of the car.
The cold air hit my face—sharp, alive, real. It smelled of rain on asphalt, of burning trash, of cheap alcohol and unwashed bodies. The screams hit next.
"LUCIAN, YOU BASTARD!"
A garbage bag exploded against the window behind me. Rotting food, used diapers, the grime of the city—it all smeared down the bulletproof glass in a slow, greasy slide.
"HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO YOUR OWN FAMILY?!"
"FREEDOM IS IN A COMA BECAUSE OF YOU!"
My brother's name landed like a punch to the gut, knocking the air from my lungs. So that's what this is about. They think I did that. They think I put him there.
The crowd was a living, breathing beast. It surged against the cordon of soldiers who stood shoulder-to-shoulder, their faces hard under their helmets, rifles held across their chests.
