It all happened so fast.
One moment, I was standing outside the hospital, pacing around impatiently and looking at my watch. The next, a man was standing in front of me so suddenly, so quietly, I hadn't even noticed his approach.
A chill slithered down my spine.
I took a step back, instinct prickling at the base of my skull. He was tall and lean but built, his dark sleeves blending too well with the dimming afternoon light. And his eyes–hazel, cold, unreadable–fixed on me with a gaze that made my stomach clench.
Beneath the golden light of the sun, I caught the way his jaw tensed–strong, sculpted, like it had been carved from stone.
Something about him felt wrong. Not in an obvious, aggressive way. But in the quiet, insidious kind that made my pulse quicken for all the wrong reasons.
He had a dark aura that was both compelling and disturbing.
Everything seemed a bit within my control until he spoke and called my name. Time seemed to stand still.
