Nobody moved.
Ryan still had his hand on Amelia's wrist, Brittle was holding the handle of the damaged door in his hand, and the loud panting of the scared woman became the room's very own heartbeat.
For that blistering second, the entire room hung frozen.
Mr. Brittle's eyes, sharp as a hawk's, locked onto Ryan Anders' hand still gripping Amelia's wrist.
Slowly, dangerously, the older man's face twisted into disgust.
"You let her go," Brittle said, his voice low and carrying the force of a sledgehammer.
Ryan wasn't an idiot. He knew doing anything but what Brittle had just told him to do would only escalate the issue.
So, he released Amelia at once, stepping back a pace, straightening his tie and smoothing his suit like the confrontation had been some minor inconvenience.
Amelia half expected him to see something, but unlike Ryan's usual self, he was silent, seemingly defeated in the way he moved.
