Tim stepped forward, slow and deliberate, until there was barely any space left between them. He didn't touch Delacroix. He didn't need to. The sheer force of his presence had him rooted in place.
"I told you," Tim murmured. "You hesitated. You've been careful, Delacroix, I'll give you that. But being careful isn't enough when it comes to my wife."
Delacroix flinched.
Tim had spoken the words so easily, so effortlessly, as if Aurora had never left his grasp, as if she were still his in every way that mattered. And maybe she was.
"You don't—" Delacroix swallowed. "You don't seriously think—"
Tim cut him off with a look. "I don't think. I know."
His gaze flicked back to the documents, to the careful work Aurora had been doing, to the secrets she had been unraveling piece by piece. His voice lowered, almost dangerous in its quiet certainty.
