The heavy oak door handle turned with a slow, deliberate metallic click.
Marissa flinched. She quickly wiped her eyes, brushing away the hot tears with the back of her hand. She didn't want him to see her crying. She wasn't ready to be that vulnerable yet, not after the night they had just survived.
She hid the silver locket behind her back, clutching it tightly in her fist as if it were a secret she could physically hold onto, protecting the fragile memory inside from the harsh light of the room.
The door swung open. Derek walked in.
He looked exhausted. The usual sharp, military precision of his bearing was gone, replaced by a slump of deep, bone-weary fatigue. He had taken off his heavy military coat and draped it carelessly over his arm. His cravat was gone, and he had unbuttoned his collar, exposing his throat to the cool air.
His hair was messy, as if he had been running his hands through it in frustration.
