I meet up with Desmond a few hours later at a private hospital mid-city, hugging him senseless the moment he shows up from the car park. The smell of antiseptic and the low hum of hospital machinery fill the air, but it doesn't matter. The warmth of him against me drowns everything else.
He's dressed in a black button-up, sleeves rolled halfway, tie loosened as if he's trying to keep it casual, but I know him too well. There's no casual about him. The intensity in his gaze is enough for me he is just as tense as I am—about what we know, about what we are going to do with it.
"Finally," I mutter, burying my face in his chest. "I thought I'd be pacing around here all day."
"Had to make sure Noah didn't chicken out," he murmurs, one hand rubbing my back while the other lazily flexes at his side. Even in casual tension, he looks like he could crush a man without a second thought.
