Fynn held up both his hands. “Whoa, slugger. It’s just me.”
A rush of relief flowed through every cell in my body. “Shit,” I heaved.
He pinched his brows together, his green eyes darkening. “Tell me that wasn’t Carter I just saw leave out the back door.”
Goose bumps covered my arms. “It was.”
“Fuck.” Fynn’s eyes turned hard as glass, the muscles in his arms and neck constricting.
He started to take off in the same direction Carter had gone, but I caught him at the door, grabbing onto his wrist before he could chase after him. “Fynn, don’t.”
Fynn's sharp gaze stared down at me. “Why the hell not?” His chest puffed out under the dark navy-blue shirt.
From under my fingers, I could feel how fast his heart was racing. “Because I don’t want you going after him alone, that’s why. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
I could see Fynn struggling. He was the responsible Elite, the one who wasn’t hotheaded or reckless. He was meticulous and calm. Usually. “What did he say?” he demanded, his lips in a tight, straight line.
My hand fell away from his arm, satisfied that Carter was long gone and Fynn would stay put. “Some nonsense about watching the headlines.”
He turned and pressed his back into the door, his eyes searching my face for an answer neither of us had. “What does that mean?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know, and I’m not sure I want to find out either.”