My voice comes out louder than I intend, already cutting across the room.
“Elijah.”
He stops mid-step and turns, and I don’t try to soften it.
“The kidnapper sent something.”
Everything in the room shifts instantly.
He crosses the space faster than I’ve seen him move outside of the ice, his focus locking onto the phone the second I hand it to him.
He watches it.
Once.
Completely still.
There’s no reaction at first, no visible shift, and for a second that stillness makes something in my chest tighten again, because it feels like everything is compressing inside him with nowhere to go.
Christian swears under his breath.
Lucian doesn’t say anything, his attention fixed entirely on Elijah.
Then it breaks.
Elijah’s fist drives into the wall beside him with enough force to crack the plaster instantly, the sound echoing through the apartment as dust falls in a fine spray across the floor, but he doesn’t stop there, the movement repeating, again and again, each impact heavier than the last as something inside him finally finds a direction to move in.
Blood marks the wall where his knuckles split, the white surface breaking under the force of it, fragments falling away with each hit.
“Elijah—” Christian starts.
He doesn’t stop.
Lucian steps in just enough to anchor the moment without physically interfering, his voice cutting through cleanly.
“Go with Christian,” he says. “Work the Vargas guy.”
Another impact lands.
Harder.
“I’ll get a trace running on the number.”
That’s what pulls him.
Direction.
Elijah drags in a breath that doesn’t sound steady, his chest rising sharply before he steps back from the wall, his hand flexing once like he’s testing it before he turns, already moving again, already redirecting the violence into something that can be used.
Christian follows him without hesitation.
The door closes behind them.
Zach disappears down the hallway without a word.
And suddenly, everything is quiet.
Too quiet.
