Why don’t you ask my uncle’s help?
Ryan clenched his fists as he watched the man step down from the car.
Even through the grainy footage, his presence was striking. The darkness seemed to recede around him, as if his existence blurred the night's hold over the wreckage.
He was standing against the direction of light, so his face wasn't visible. But a lot could be seen from his demeanor.
His movements were brisk, purposeful —yet there was an unmistakable air of sophistication in the way he carried himself.
The more Ryan watched, the heavier the unease settled in his chest.
Something about this scene didn't sit right.
The way the man strode towards Arwen's car, the urgency in his steps —it wasn't the reaction of a stranger.
It was something else entirely.
Like he knew her.
Like he was there … for her.
Ready to wreck the world.
Ready to wreck anybody and everybody who had made her suffer.
Ryan's grip on the laptop tightened.