Ella
The stretcher bearing the injured man maneuvered its way through the crowd. The room seemed to be in slow motion, with each passing second feeling like an eternity. The stark contrast of the man’s bloodied face against the pristine backdrop of the opulent ballroom was a sight that would stay with me for a long time.
Logan, ever the picture of calm, nonchalantly picked up a white cloth napkin from a nearby table. With deliberate strokes, he began to clean the blood from his knuckles. To the casual observer, it would seem like he was simply wiping away a spill from dinner. But I knew better.
A well-dressed man approached Logan, a smirk playing on his lips.
“Well done, Logan,” he said, clapping him on the back with an almost brotherly familiarity. “That guy was a real Cl
