Grayson’s POV

I couldn't sit still.

I'd been pacing my office for twenty minutes, and the room felt smaller every time I crossed it. Through the mate bond I could feel Lynn upstairs — a vague directional awareness, like a compass needle that never stopped pointing north. Third floor. Stationary. Her emotional signature came through as something dense and gray, not the sharp heat of anger from this morning but something quieter and harder to read. Grief, maybe. Or the ...