Griffith caught Storm’s wrist and twisted until his fingers opened. Before Storm could grab him again, he shoved him back. Orion moved with him. Two guards came forward, one already reaching, until Griffith barked, “Stay back.” Storm knocked Orion’s arm aside and stepped in again. Griffith was already coming to meet him, his coat hanging crooked where a seam had split near the collar. “Put your hands on me again,” Griffith warned, “and you won’t be standing here asking questions.” “Then answer me. When did you see her?” “You still haven’t told me who she is.” “Her scent is all over your clothes. You know exactly who I’m talking about.” Griffith’s eyes moved over his face, provoking enough that Storm wanted to hit him. “What do you want with her?” “To see her. To hear her tell me she’s all right, instead of standing here trying to squeeze it out of you.” “You think putting your hands on me gets you closer to that?” “Was she hurt?” The question came out louder than St
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