The Wrong Kind Of Right
Every muscle in his body screamed at him to get out, but the poison in his system made him feel like he was moving underwater.
Reid noticed. He always noticed. “Going somewhere?”
Julian’s lips parted, but before he could answer, Reid’s hand clamped lightly, too lightly, on his shoulder, the touch deceptively casual. “Relax, Julian. You don’t want to miss the ending.”
Reid’s grip on Julian’s shoulder tightened almost imperceptibly, but the pressure was enough to root him to the chair.
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