Adrien's POV
The warehouse loomed like a quiet accusation—ugly, industrial, and far too still. The air outside was thick with humidity and bloodlust, even though not a single drop had fallen yet.
I stepped out of the car. Gravel crunched beneath my shoes.
Cameron was already waiting by the entrance, hands shoved in his pockets, that familiar sheepish tilt to his stance. Gray stood a few feet away, arms crossed, and eyes sharp beneath the low brim of his cap. A few of our men fanned out, forming a loose perimeter.
All of them were waiting—for me.
"Adrien," Cam started, stepping forward.
I didn't break stride. Didn't even glance at him. I walked right past like he didn't exist.
"Listen, I—"
I cut him off with a flat gesture of my hand. "Save it."
He shut up instantly, but I could feel the weight of his guilt at my back.
A few days ago, I let him convince me. I listened to him talk me into putting my woman in harm's way. Letting Clara spiral. Giving her rope to hang herself.
