Ryley stilled.
Then, slowly, he exhaled—a quiet, razor-sharp thing.
Before Ryley could even think of a reply, a familiar scent curled through the air, threading its way toward him like an unshakable ghost from the past.
Even with the crisp night air thinning it out, Ryley could still recognize it—overwhelming, unmistakably his.
His fingers hovered over his phone screen, but his focus was already elsewhere. Slowly, he turned his head.
And there he was. Clyde.
The Alpha moved with quiet confidence, each step deliberate, each breath measured.
The streetlights cast sharp shadows across his face, highlighting the cold intensity in his gaze.
And beside him—Mervyn, clinging close like a carefully placed accessory.
A sharp pang laced through Ryley's chest, though he refused to acknowledge it for what it was.
Jealousy? No. He wouldn't give Clyde the satisfaction.
But what the hell was he playing at?
Of all places, of all nights—why here? Why now?
