Zane swallowed hard and forced himself to straighten, though his spine felt as if gravel had been wedged between each vertebra. The instinct to brace himself rose automatically. His shoulders drew back, his posture tightening into the familiar shape of composure that had carried him through years of negotiations and confrontations. Pride was habit, not comfort. He lifted his head and met Victor's gaze directly because looking away would have felt like surrendering a fight he had never come here to start.
"I'm leaving," he said, his voice rough from too many hours spent in silence. "I just left something by her door."
