Chapter 2 - Blind Fire
Screams erupted in the pitch black. The heavy clanking of opening deadbolts echoed from the rear gallery, followed by the shattering of thick glass.
Lucas didn’t hesitate. Relying on muscle memory, he swept Clara into his arms, using his broad shoulders to shield her vitals as he rolled toward the heavy oak jury box. A suppressed pop cut through the screams—a silenced round struck the marble floor inches from where Clara’s head had rested a second prior, sending sharp stone splinters slicing through Lucas’s dress trousers.
""Stay down!"" Lucas commanded, pressing Clara into the footwell of the jury bench.
""Lucas... I can't see,"" Clara whispered, her breath shallow and ragged. ""The antidote... my left pocket.""
Lucas reached into the tailored pocket of her blazer, feeling a sleek auto-injector. Without waiting for light, he jammed the needle through her slacks into her outer thigh. Clara gasped as the high-potency hydroxocobalamin flooded her bloodstream, countering the poison.
Above them, red emergency lights flickered to life, casting an eerie crimson glow across the chaos. Three men dressed in private tactical gear moved swiftly down the gallery aisle, suppressed submachine guns raised. They weren't bailiffs. They moved with the cold, deliberate precision of corporate mercenaries.
At the front of the room, Judge Harrison was gone. His leather high-back chair stood empty, the heavy velvet curtain behind the bench swaying gently.
""Where is the case, Clara?"" Lucas demanded, drawing the compact sidearm he kept concealed beneath his service belt—a privilege granted by his military escort credentials.
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Clara pointed a trembling, bloodstained finger toward the defense table. Eleanor Cross was already there, clutching a battered aluminum briefcase, her face twisted in manic triumph.
As Eleanor turned toward the private exit, she locked eyes with Lucas, raised a remote detonator, and smiled.
