🗝️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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Ray lowered his eyelids with a sigh and pulled his head in a little. Closer to his shoulders so that the wind couldn't bite so openly into his skin with its icy breeze. Still, he pinched the fabric of his shirt uncomfortably, for he had given Eve his jacket.
Her clothes were wet from trying to save her dreams from sinking into the lake, and she'd already been shivering slightly as they walked along the lake back to Bluebirds. How could he, who had been raised like a gentleman by his mother after all, not have handed her his jacket? That way, she could at least warm up until the air conditioning in the junk heap had heated the interior enough to stop her shivering like a leaf. Besides, she had looked cute and snuggled up in his jacket.
Ray sucked the cool air deeply into his lungs. The autumn wind carried an exceptional nuance of leaves and the first hint of the approaching winter—a mixture of transience and cold freshness. The young man lifted his head from his crouched position and leaned it back on his neck as he slipped his hands into the pockets of his jeans. The wind immediately brushed his cheeks and face.
He glanced up at the sky and looked at the heavy, gray autumn clouds that had now swallowed the sunlight. They looked like a reflection of what was happening below them.
The tension still lingered in his body. It clung relentlessly to his muscles and would not let go, even though his heartbeat had calmed down. In an unguarded moment, he could have run his hand restlessly through his hair. A terrible habit he'd never been able to break, but with Eve behind him, he forced himself to keep his hands in his pockets.
She hadn't told the whole truth.
He knew it; he could feel it. Over time, he had learned to see behind the masks people wore to protect themselves and others. This helped him perfect his game and read strangers like an open book. They were tiny movements that hardly anyone could control because they happened unconsciously: the trembling hands when they tensed up. The quivering of the lips when speaking. The turning of the head to avoid glances. Their voices' pitch sounded a tiny nuance different as if a ship was trying to sail around a reef. You only had to be impartial and very attentive to notice these details.
