ENZO
THE SOUND OF the door opening was small, but it cracked through the air like a gunshot. Tate’s breath caught against my mouth, and for a second, everything in me went still.
I didn’t have to look to know who it was. The silence gave it away.
Eli.
He stood there, frozen in the doorway, green hair catching the light, eyes wide and hollow. His gaze dropped, and I could see the exact second it hit him. My fingers were still buried in Tate, my body still caging his, and Tate’s face—Gods, his face—had gone pale, eyes darting away like he didn’t know where to look.
Slowly, I pulled my hand back, the sound of it quiet but obscene. Tate flinched and I adjusted his jeans for him, fingers staying a beat too long before I stepped aside, letting him breathe.
Eli’s stare burned throug
