Freya's POV

Dylan's jaw tightened.

He looked at Ryder for a long moment — the kind of look that wanted to be a challenge but couldn't quite commit to it. Whatever he saw in Ryder's face made the fight drain out of him slowly, like air leaving a punctured tyre.

He just stood there, chest heaving, eyes wild with a mix of rage and something broken. He stared at Ryder, then at me still sitting on the bed, duvet clutched to my chest like armor.

“Fine,” he spat, voice cracking. “I’m leaving.”

He took one step toward the door, then stopped. His gaze snapped back to me, dark and venomous....