Ryan walked into his study and shut the door behind him.
Only after the heavy wooden door closed did the expression on his face finally change.
He stood there for a moment in silence, his hand still resting against the door. His jaw was tight, and his brows were drawn together as he stared at nothing in particular. The image of Eric lying motionless on the bed refused to leave his mind.
Blood.
There had been so much blood.
Ryan's fingers slowly curled into fists.
He had seen countless people wounded on the battlefield. He had watched soldiers bleed in front of him, watched men lose their lives beneath his command, and had long since learned how to keep his emotions under control when faced with death.
Yet the sight of Eric covered in blood had shaken him in a way he couldn't understand.
He walked toward the table and poured himself a cup of wine.
He drank it in one go.
Then he poured another.
And another.
