Maverick sat in the chair outside the room, his elbows resting on his thighs, eyes fixed on the ground. His right hand clutched his coat, his knuckles white.
His expression was unreadable, but the tension in his body spoke volumes. After a long moment, he straightened his back, leaned into the chair, and flipped the coat back and forth, searching.
When his fingers finally found the familiar gold brooch pinned to the fabric, he exhaled a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. Gently rubbing the brooch with his thumb, he allowed a faint, warm smile to touch his lips—a rare moment of solace.
The sound of hurried footsteps echoed down the hallway, snapping him out of his thoughts. Maverick looked up to see Nicholas and Wolfgang approaching, their faces etched with urgency.
Nicholas wasted no time. "How is Julius?" he demanded, his tone sharp. "Is the injury severe?"
