My heart tensed up for no reason, but I didn’t even bother looking back. My face tightened unconsciously, and my brows furrowed ever so slightly.
That low, cool voice—I couldn't be more familiar. Who else could it be but Ronald Wright?
I turned around and saw Ronald walking in, decked out in a long black trench coat. Underneath was a crisp white shirt, and his entire outfit—right down to the hem of his suit pants—was ironed to perfection. He looked sharp as always, but his lips were pale, and there was a faint tired blue around his eyes. He seemed a bit worn out.
His gaze was ice-cold as it zeroed in on me. He stepped forward with Paul Allen trailing behind him, noticeably shorter.
Meanwhile, Daniel Brooks didn’t even care he'd just got slapped. He rushed to help Grace Mills
