Vance paused, the motor of the clippers dying with a pathetic whine as he noticed a shadow dart past the frosted glass of the holding room door.
He dropped my hair — what was left of it — and lunged for the doorknob, his hand resting instinctively on his holster.
Thorne swore under his breath, releasing his crushing grip on my spine.
He ripped the door open, but the hallway was empty.
Maya was fast.
She had gotten what she needed.
“Probably just a janitor,” Thorne muttered, wiping sweat from his forehead.
He looked down at me, breathing heavily.
The floor around my chair was carpeted in my dark, tightly coiled hair.
My scalp throbbed, dotted with tiny beads of blood where Vance had pressed the blades too recklessly against my skin.
“Get her out of here,” Vance barked, sudden paranoia flickering in his eyes.
“Throw her out the back exit. If she comes near the building again, arrest her for trespassing.”
