Gordon's long, fox-like eyes curved slightly as he fixed his gaze on Elliot for several heartbeats before speaking in a voice as deep and resonant as a cello: "Elliot, come here." His emerald eyes, darker than midnight, burned with an intensity that felt almost tangible.
Elliot hesitated, then huffed inwardly—Fine, I'll go. Stupid old man. He shuffled his little body toward Gordon at a snail's pace, muttering, "You gonna carry me, Mr. Hayworth?" In one swift motion, Gordon swept the boy from Tracy's arms, his grip marking his territory. After all, Elliot was his son, nothing more.
Tracy's eyes flickered with quiet heartache before she looked away.
"Tracy," Gordon said coolly, "the sky's already bright. Time for you to leave." He turned to Cyrus without hesitation. "Take her back to Cres
