Cellie's POV
The door opened.
I heard the handle turn and registered the change in the air before I processed what was happening, and I pulled back from the blonde man and turned and there was Demetrio in the doorway with his hand still on the frame and an expression on his face that I had not seen before.
Not anger. Anger I had seen. This was something past anger, something that had gone through anger and come out the other side into a place that was colder and more dangerous and entirely without the performance that his anger sometimes contained.
He looked at me. Then he looked at the blonde man, who had gone completely still in the way that people went still when they correctly assessed a room as containing something that could hurt them.
Demetrio stepped inside.
The storage room was small. Three people in it was two people too many and the specific quality of those three people made it feel smaller than its actual dimensions.
