Ric arrived at the suite with both hands full of take-out boxes, his face flushed from the sun and the rush to get back. He balanced the containers against his chest and knocked lightly on the door.
Cammy opened it before he could call out, her expression unreadable—too still, too quiet.
Ric's eyes scanned the room immediately, the tension in his shoulders noticeable. "Where's Greg?"
Cammy stepped aside to let him in and softly closed the door behind them. "He's out on the balcony," she said. "Taking a call."
Ric nodded slowly, glancing toward the sheer curtains swaying near the sliding doors. Greg's silhouette stood still against the light, his back turned to them, one hand in his pocket, the other holding the phone loosely to his ear. He looked distant—too still for someone on a real call.
