His brows furrowed.
The thought was absurd, ridiculous even—but it clung to him, refusing to let go.
With a sharp shake of his head, Ryley shoved the feeling aside and pulled the coat closer around him.
He jogged past the building, never realizing what it was—the very shelter that housed the blind shaman he had once helped.
It took Ryley a while to reach the front gate of Falcon Group's headquarters.
Standing before the towering structure, his breath hitched.
It had changed. No—transformed.
What was once a formidable base now loomed like an impenetrable fortress, colder, more ruthless.
It was as if the entire place had armored itself in response to something—or someone.
A pang of guilt twisted in his chest. He knew. Somehow, this was his fault.
As he took a step forward, intent blazing in his honey-brown eyes, a wall of armed guards blocked his path.
As Ryley stepped forward, the guards instantly moved to block his path.
