Ryley let Clyde carry him all the way from the car to the towering glass doors of the penthouse. His body felt light in the Alpha's arms, but his chest was unbearably heavy.
Only when they reached the threshold did he finally find his voice, soft and trembling, asking to be set down.
"I'm fine… really. Don't worry about me." His words came out as a mutter, more a plea than assurance. "You must be needed at headquarters, so… you'd better go."
He turned from him, fingers hesitating on the keypad as if punching in the numbers could erase the ache in his throat. The lock clicked open, and he pushed the door an inch—then froze.
It wasn't the door that stopped him. It was the shadow stretching long and steady at his backs.
At last, he gave in. His body turned back before his mind could stop him. Ryley's brown eyes widened—not with fear, but with the quiet shock of someone caught off guard, stripped of his defenses.
