"Alexander Johnson," The name echoed in Angel's mind, gnawing at her so relentlessly that, before she even realized it, her legs were already carrying her toward the door.
A surge of urgency overtook her, and just as her fingers brushed the handle, she caught Tryson's wide-eyed stare—pure disbelief etched across his face.
But she didn't stop. Not even as she reached for the door—the very door that had been firmly shut for Riley.
"You said it was Alexander Johnson," Angel's breath came in uneven bursts, her voice laced with something raw and urgent.
Tryson froze, momentarily stunned by her reaction.
He was just about to ask what she intended to do, but curiosity got the better of him—why did this name always shake her?
This wasn't the first time she'd tensed up at the mere mention of Alexander Johnson.