A sharp, familiar pain tore through his lower abdomen, stealing the breath from his lungs. He gasped, instinctively doubling over as he winced.
Clyde was at his side instantly, concern flashing across his face."What's wrong?" he asked, brows knitting together. "Are you alright?"
"I-I'm fine. It's nothing."
Ryley straightened too quickly, as if pride alone could stitch the pain back together.
Clyde watched him, unease lingering in his expression.
His wife's stubbornness set him on edge, but he swallowed his worry and followed.
They stopped in front of a weathered door at the end of the alley. The building leaned into itself, tired, forgotten.
Ryley knocked.
"Excuse me," he called, clearing his throat softly.
The door opened with a long, aching creak.
And Ryley nearly forgot how to breathe.
"Mr. Avery?"
The man standing before them looked smaller than Ryley saw in the pictures Eloi sent him—shorter, thinner, as if life had been steadily carving pieces off him.
