The air was thick with the scent of blood and burnt debris.
Shirley's heart pounded in her ears as she stared at the man standing before them. Reinhardt.
The man who stood as a symbol of unwavering justice, she had seen this man countless times in the NEWS.
His piercing gaze locked onto them, his hands relaxed at his sides, but Shirley wasn't fooled. That man was like a coiled spring, ready to strike at a moment's notice.
Her grip on her knife tightened.
Lumian, however, was different.
He simply smiled beneath his mask.
"Well, shit," he muttered, cracking his neck.
Shirley glanced at him. "You got a plan?"
Lumian tilted his head. "Oh, plenty."
Shirley's eye twitched. "Care to share one?"
"Nah."
Before Shirley could curse at him, Reinhardt took a step forward.
The pressure in the air changed.