The heavy oak door to Cross’s office creaked open, the sound slicing through the room's tense stillness. Ronan strolled in with the same confidence that had always followed him like a shadow. He didn’t wait for permission. He didn’t need it. With a smirk tugging at his lips, he dropped into the leather chair opposite Cross without a word.

Cross didn’t look up immediately. He kept his gaze glued to the document in front of him, his fingers flipping the pages with mechanical precision. But the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed him. He knew Ronan’s presence was about to shatter the fragile calm.

“Who invited you...