🗝️Detective Ryker Viltarin must uncover dark secrets before he loses not only his heart but also his life.🗝️
You're on your own, far from home
The wind is blowing in the top of the pines
A gloomy sky where the sun never shines
Deep...
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Evelyn's fingers in his felt warm and cool at the same time. When he took them in his, the delicate fingertips twitched, and for a moment he thought she wanted to release her hand from his grip and pull it away. But ... she didn't.
The touch sent a strange tingling sensation through his nerves.
Was it the numbness from his infirmity?
No, it was something else.
Slowly, his gaze slid to his hand, which had just clasped the smaller, softer one. Warm... It felt warm.
Eve's footsteps moved quietly away, accompanied by the soft creaking of the floorboards, before they fell silent on the stairs.
'What the hell are you doing, Ryker?'
The smile and warmth on his face disappeared as quickly as they had appeared. As if a curtain had fallen and cast a shadow over his soul. To be honest, he didn't want to dwell on what had thrown him off balance.
'You have to concentrate on the job. Surveillance. Protect the child. Just until Dylan gets here. It can't be that hard,' he scolded himself inwardly.
Humming softly, he pulled the blanket back over his shoulders and gathered it in front of his chest. A heavy breath slipped over his lips and his gaze lifted again. The grey-blue soul mirrors stared into the mouth of the fireplace. Crackling, orange-red flames danced over the logs and greedily ate their way deeper into the wood. The warming fire sent a pleasant warmth into the room. But despite the heat Ray felt on his face and skin, his shivering only slowly subsided.
Sighing, Ryker leant back in his chair. His gaze wandered over the light-coloured stone of the fireplace, the gleaming wood and the kitsch, which probably came from Edana and which Ri and Eve had too much respect for to clear away. An old music box with a ballerina and a mirror in the lid cast its shadow on the light-coloured stone behind it.
Ryker sighed softly before tilting his head and looking over at the sleeping boy nestled against the back of the armchair. The hair seemed almost dry by now and no longer hung in thick, dripping strands in the child's face. Nevertheless, Liam was still unhealthily pale.
