The car's tires screamed as Vael wrenched the wheel, sending the vehicle lurching to a stop outside Theon's residence. The engine died with a shudder, and for a moment, Vael sat there, his knuckles white against the steering wheel, his chest heaving with each ragged breath.
He threw open the door, his boots hitting the ground hard enough to send a shock up his spine.
He didn't feel it. He didn't feel anything except the rage building behind his ribs, pressing against his sternum like a caged animal desperate to break free.
The walk to the door took three seconds. Each step ate the distance with predatory urgency. And his fist connected with the wood.
Once. Twice. Three times.
The impact jarred his arm, but he welcomed the pain. Welcomed anything that felt real.
The door swung open.
Theon stood in the threshold, his face carefully neutral, but Vael caught the subtle tightening around his eyes.
Theon had known this was coming. He had been waiting for it, probably.
