Dalton Lawson could barely keep the fury from showing on his face. He stood in the corridor outside his office, one hand braced against the doorframe, his knuckles whitening as he squeezed the wood. His jaw was clenched so tightly that a dull ache radiated up through his temples, and he could feel the pulse hammering in the hollow of his throat. He curled his fingers into a fist at his side, held it there for a count of three, then forced them open again before turning toward the hallway.
"Get in here," he said to Morgan Lewis, jerking his chin toward the office door. His voice was low, controlled, but threaded with something dangerous, something that promised consequences.
Morgan scrambled to obey, nodding so rapidly his neck might have cracked. He had been hovering near the end of the
