Zyke's hand is still wrapped tightly around my wrist, his grip unyielding, almost crushing. His eyes lock onto mine—dangerously sharp, piercing through me without blinking. The morning air is cold, but the chill no longer matters. What suffocates me instead is his pheromone—strong, oppressive, heavy with anger.
He's furious.
But why?
I didn't do anything.
I try to step back, instinctively pulling at my wrist, but his fingers tighten instead. Pain shoots through my arm. I force a smile, shallow and strained, though fear curls deep inside my chest. I don't want this. I don't want to feel that pain again—the pain he gave me last time. It felt like standing at the gates of death, begging the god of mercy to look away.
His stare never wavers.
"Big… big brother," I say, my voice cautious, almost trembling. "What's wrong?"
He doesn't loosen his hold. Instead, he steps closer, invading my space, his shadow falling over me.
"What are you trying to do?" he asks coldly.
