Tryson stepped into the car that had been opened for him, his movements slow and deliberate.
As the door closed behind him, the first thing he did was exhale sharply, releasing a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. The weight of the situation pressed down on him, and for a brief moment, he allowed his mind to wander through the chaotic events that had led to this point.
In the midst of his thoughts, a sharp, stinging pain shot through his hand, pulling his attention to the injury that had yet to fully heal.
The sensation surged under his skin, causing him to instinctively lower his head and stare at the crimson red blood that trickled down his palm. A low growl rumbled from his chest as frustration simmered within him.
His hand hovered for a moment, as if debating whether to reach for it, but before he could act, a sharp beep from his phone cut through his haze of pain.
