Weeks passed.
And something in Ryan… flattened.
Meetings blurred into each other until they felt identical—different rooms, same faces, same hunger for decisions that would cost someone else their life. Ryan moved through all of it without resistance.
He didn't argue anymore.
Didn't question.
Didn't negotiate.
He simply decided.
"Yes."
"No."
"Proceed."
Cold. Nonchalant.
Perfect.
Too perfect.
Max noticed first.
Ryan sat at the long conference table, fingers folded neatly in front of him, posture immaculate. The screens reflected off his eyes, but there was no reaction in them—no irritation, no interest, no fatigue.
Not even boredom.
That scared Max more than anger ever could.
"He hasn't slept," Max muttered quietly to Liam as the meeting dragged on.
Liam didn't reply. He was watching Ryan too closely for that.
Someone across the table cleared their throat. "There's a complication on the east route. If we proceed, civilian interference is… possible."
Ryan didn't even blink.
"Proceed," he said calmly.
A pause rippled through the room.
"With respect," the man added carefully, "this would have consequences."
Ryan tilted his head slightly, as if processing something mildly interesting.
"All actions have consequences," he replied. "That's not a reason to stop."
Max shifted uncomfortably.
This wasn't strategy.
This was… emptiness.
The meeting continued. Numbers. Risks. Losses framed as necessities.
Ryan listened.
And then—
Someone laughed.
It was brief. Nervous. Unimportant.
But the sound snapped something loose.
Ryan's gaze drifted to the glass wall, to the faint reflection of himself staring back. For a split second, the room faded.
He saw Kia instead.
Leaning against a doorway. Arms crossed. That soft, infuriating look in his eyes when he thought Ryan was being unreasonable.
You don't have to do this alone.
Ryan's breath hitched.
Just once.
Barely noticeable.
But Liam saw it.
"Ryan?" Liam said quietly.
The room went still.
Ryan's fingers tightened together. His chest felt… wrong. Tight. Heavy. Like something was pressing from the inside out.
He hadn't felt this in weeks.
It terrified him.
"I said proceed," Ryan repeated, sharper this time.
But the words didn't land as cleanly.
The image wouldn't leave.
Kia's voice layered over the room.
Just call me.
Ryan stood abruptly.
The chair scraped loudly against the floor.
Every head turned.
"I need a moment," he said, already moving toward the exit.
In the hallway, the air felt too thin.
Ryan braced his hands against the wall, head lowered, breath uneven.
This was a mistake.
Thinking of Kia was a mistake.
Wanting him was a mistake.
His phone vibrated in his pocket.
Ryan froze.
For half a second, hope surged—wild, reckless, humiliating.
He pulled it out.
Not Kia.
Max.
You okay?
Ryan closed his eyes.
He typed back quickly.
Fine.
A lie.
Liam stepped into the hallway a moment later, closing the door softly behind him.
"You're burning yourself out," he said gently.
"I'm fine," Ryan repeated.
"You're not human right now," Liam said. Not accusing. Just stating fact.
Ryan laughed once, hollow. "Good."
"That's not what I meant."
Ryan straightened slowly, face settling back into calm neutrality like a mask sliding into place.
"It's what I need," he said. "If I feel—if I want—then I hesitate. And if I hesitate, people die."
Liam studied him, eyes sad. "And what happens when there's nothing left of you?"
Ryan didn't answer.
Because somewhere deep down, the part of him that still waited for Kia's call already knew.
And it was screaming.
—
Meanwhile—
Kia sat alone, phone resting face-up on the table.
He hadn't touched it in hours.
Every instinct told him something was wrong.
That Ryan was slipping.
That the silence was stretching too thin.
His thumb hovered over the screen.
Just one call, his wolf urged.
Kia closed his eyes and pushed the phone away.
"Space," he whispered. "He asked for space."
Even as his chest tightened painfully.
Two people.
Both holding on.
Both breaking.
Just not yet.