The echo of the shattered glass had barely died away when Martin acted.
Before David’s frantic, ragged breathing could attract the attention of guests on the floor below, Martin reached out, seized David by the shoulder of his tuxedo, and shoved him back into the secluded VIP holding room beside the balcony. He pulled Javed inside with his other hand, slamming the heavy soundproof door shut and locking it with a sharp, metallic click.
The room was dimly lit, lined with velvet armchairs and dark oak paneling. It felt like an interrogation chamber.
"Don't touch me!" David screamed, wrenching his shoulder away from Martin's grip. He stumbled back against a glass display case, his face pale, his chest heaving as if he had just run a marathon.
David’s eyes swung to Javed, burning with a mix
