"The footage is corrupted," Marcus Wells said, staring at the blank computer screen with obvious frustration. "Every camera in the arena malfunctioned at the exact same moment."
Roman Sterling leaned back in his chair, fingers drumming against the polished desk. We were in his private office at Dragon's Shadow headquarters, hours after the martial arts demonstration that had left everyone with fragmented memories.
"That's impossible," Roman muttered. "Our equipment doesn't just fail simultaneously."
Marcus rubbed his temples. "I keep trying to remember exactly how Vincent Finch died, but it's like there's a fog in my mind. I know Aiden won the match, but the details..."
"Are gone." Roman stood and walked to the window overlooking the city. "Twenty thousand witnesses, and not one of them can give a coherent account of the final moments."
