Sinn's face said all of it.
The authority was still in how he stood, still in the shoulders, still in the way he'd come around that desk. The title was still in his mouth. The room was still his. But underneath it, something had started running the arithmetic and coming up short.
There was never a version of tonight where he pictured this. Not one. He's been standing in this office for two days telling a city he had it handled and he believed every word.
And he's waiting. Look at him. He's waiting on those two women to stand up and do whatever they promised him in this room.
"What are you offering these walls?" Monica asked.
"Peace." Max didn't move. "Not one infected causes trouble in this city again."
"That's bullshit." Sinn's voice cut across her. The edge in it was absolute. "Did it not occur to you, walking in here, that there was every possibility you'd die in this building tonight?"
"General." Sophia stopped him.
