Sylvie hovered near the cabinet where the first-aid kit was kept, her fingers brushing the edge of the drawer without opening it.
She had already brought it out earlier, she placed it on the table, unopened, then thought better of it. The cold expression on Ryan's face didn't let her go close to him.
Ryan hadn’t said a word since they came in. Not a reprimand. He didn't even question her. Not even the clipped professionalism she had grown used to.
And somehow, that silence felt heavier than anger.
She watched him from across the room, seated stiffly on one end of the couch, shoulders squared, posture disciplined even now. His face was calm, too calm, as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn’t just fought three men for her. As if blood hadn’t dried faintly near his hairline.
Her chest
