The minute they stepped out of the briefing room, Mark's hand found Ronnie’s wrist. Not hard. Not controlling. Just grounding — a silent need to feel her there, solid and real.
"Mark—" she started, but he didn’t let her finish.
He scanned the empty hallway, spotted an unused conference room, and gently steered her inside. He closed the door behind them with a quiet but decisive click.
Only then did Ronnie really see him.
Mark’s shoulders were tight, the tendons in his neck flexing. His hands were shoved deep into his pockets like he was afraid if he touched her again, he wouldn’t be able to stop. His dark eyes flicked over her face, tracing her features like memorizing her for the last time.
"Mark," Ronnie said again, softer this time.
He didn’t speak for a moment. His chest rose and
