Red stained the snow where he walked. The marks trailed behind him, stark against the white, a map of mistakes we couldn't erase.
He didn't look at me as we stepped inside. He shifted back without a word, jaw tight, shoulders locked like he was bracing for something that wasn't coming.
Fenrir stayed quiet. So did I.
Ryker grabbed a towel and wiped at his hands like that would fix anything. It didn't. The smell of blood lingered, sharp and metallic, clinging to the air and to every memory that had brought us here.
"You're going to infect that if you don't clean it properly," I said.
Ryker didn't reply. He tossed the towel aside and leaned on the counter, head dropping for a second, trying to get his breathing under control.
"Enough," I ordered.
Ryker stilled, looking up, eyes rimmed
