There was a deep silence in the hospital hallway. The kind that made every fluorescent light buzz seem louder than it should, every shuffle of shoes echo a little too much. The air felt cold and sterile, heavy with unspoken tension.
Clyde turned slowly, his gaze sharp and unreadable. He stood with his hands in his pants pockets, chin slightly tilted, one brow raised as he stared down at Darcy.
"You still haven't answered me," he said evenly. "Why were you following me?"
Darcy met his cold eyes, pushing aside the uneasiness in his gut. Now, it wasn't the time to wallow in the sense of inferiority that this man always stirred in him. He bit inside his cheek. "It's about Micah…" he said, voice guarded. His voice carried something underneath, concern and confusion. "His behaviour…it is a bit strange when it comes to my mum's illness."
"How come?"
"He knows too much," Darcy replied. "Too many details. More than a normal person should. It's unsettling."
