NATE'S POV
The dial tone was a violent assault on the silence left by Adrian's hang-up. I stood in the small, secure office Ryan had rigged a cramped space typically used for reviewing sensitive crime scene photos and felt the rage drain out of me, leaving behind a cold, shaking emptiness. I slammed the burner phone down on the desk.
He had not just won the argument; he had won the power play, the psychological war, and the professional crisis. He had forced me to break my oath, to risk my career, to seek him out in the shadows, and then he had dismissed me like a desperate lover.
"Go to hell, Blackwood," I whispered, but the curse was weak, turning inward. The fear that I was already halfway there, pulled by the dark gravity of him, was paralysing.
