Page 8 of Misted

I forget to breathe.

He strides inside with measured, silent steps like a panther. Unlike a panther, his presence fills the space. It has little to do with his impressive height and broad shoulders and more to do with him.

Silence has always been his attribute, but he doesn’t need to speak to own the air and everything in his immediate vicinity.

He’s wearing jeans that hang low on his hips and a baggy grey T-shirt that still clings to his defined muscles. His light brown hair has grown from the clean-cut to cover the top of his head. His piercing turquoise eyes that always barged into my dreams uninvited scan the office with a predatory gleam until they lock with mine.

They remain there. Unwavering. Expressionless. Silent.

God forbid if the man shows any emotion.

He never did since that day.

I tighten my crossed arms, afraid he’ll see my heart trying to thump out of my chest.

For months, I thought he died. Now that he’s here, I want him gone. For fucking good.

You know what will happen if you disobey?

I dig my nails further in my arm until I break the skin, but I school my features into the nonchalant façade I’ve been perfecting for years.

“Hawk agreed to help.” Ghost nods his way. “The more Team Zero, the better.”

“Absolutely not.” I jerk to my feet and speak in my coldest tone. “Either he leaves or I will make him.”