Chapter 35
The city was awash with a golden haze that evening, the last glow of the sun stretching long shadows across the streets. Bruce drove without purpose, his grip tight on the wheel, his face set in a mask of restless fury. He had left another meeting in shambles, his temper snapping at colleagues who had dared to ask questions about contracts he could no longer defend. Their polite silence had cut deeper than any direct challenge, feeding the voice in his mind that told him everyone had turned against him.
He did not plan to stop at Lyra’s house. He told himself he was only driving by, circling the streets as he often did when his mind refused to rest. But when he caught the faint sound of laughter drifting through an open gate, he slowed.
The sound was like a blade.
Laughter.
