Elias’s POV

Ronan didn’t touch me again. After that brief, burning brush of his fingers against my wrist, he jerked away as if the contact had shocked him. He stood abruptly and paced to the far end of the room. He pressed both palms flat against the wall, head bowed, shoulders stiff and too tight.

His breathing was wrong. It was soft but uneven, Deep but forced, Controlled but fraying.

He was fighting something and losing.

“Ronan,” I said quietly. “You don’t have ...