Declan isn't prone to nervous habits, but now he feels restless and bothered. Something isn't right, he knows it. He stares at the last text message Ronan sent. Nothing yet.
He looks toward the fire door and flips through his contacts to the hired muscle they have to help with problems. Usually Declan Lynch can handle it, whatever it is, but other times a show of overwhelming force is necessary. Especially when there's a pair of meta brothers the government would surely like to get their hands on. Ronan's ability to manifest anything; Declan's ability to nullify other metas. It's one of Declan's recurring nightmares. He doesn't care what happens to him, but he can't let anything happen to Ronan.
Fifteen minutes.
He looks at his phone but there's no text from Ronan. Declan rolls out of the BMW and closes the door quietly. The gun from beneath the seat ends up hidden in a holster under his jacket.
Something's wrong.
He heads for the fire door, heart pounding as he prepares to render any meta in the building helpless. Even for people that have trained to fight without their power, the shock is usually enough for him to get the upper hand. Declan slips into the locker room, outwardly unconcerned. If he walks in a deal, he'll play the part he's meant to.
But there is no deal happening.
There is no Ronan.
For a few precious seconds, Declan just stands there, listening hard as if Ronan might just be in another part of the room. But there's nothing but the sound of his pulse throbbing in his ears. Maybe Ronan left and didn't text. It wouldn't even be the first time. Maybe he's circled round, back out at the BMW--
Then he sees it. Ronan's phone discarded on the floor. Slow and deliberate, Declan goes to it, crouches down to pick it up. There's nothing there but the open message window.
Nothing yet.
For most of his life, Declan Lynch has done everything in his power to keep his brother safe from everyone, even himself. And in the space of fifteen fucking minutes, he's lost him. He takes a deep breath and pushes down the rising panic. Panicking won't help him find Ronan. He slips the phone into his pocket and texts their backup. He can't alert anyone to this. They can't know the Greywaren is a person.
Fuck fuck fuck.
"Goddamnit, Ronan," he whispers into the empty space. "You better stay alive."
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Declan isn't prone to nervous habits, but now he feels restless and bothered. Something isn't right, he knows it. He stares at the last text message Ronan sent. Nothing yet.
He looks toward the fire door and flips through his contacts to the hired muscle they have to help with problems. Usually Declan Lynch can handle it, whatever it is, but other times a show of overwhelming force is necessary. Especially when there's a pair of meta brothers the government would surely like to get their hands on. Ronan's ability to manifest anything; Declan's ability to nullify other metas. It's one of Declan's recurring nightmares. He doesn't care what happens to him, but he can't let anything happen to Ronan.
Fifteen minutes.
He looks at his phone but there's no text from Ronan. Declan rolls out of the BMW and closes the door quietly. The gun from beneath the seat ends up hidden in a holster under his jacket.
Something's wrong.
He heads for the fire door, heart pounding as he prepares to render any meta in the building helpless. Even for people that have trained to fight without their power, the shock is usually enough for him to get the upper hand. Declan slips into the locker room, outwardly unconcerned. If he walks in a deal, he'll play the part he's meant to.
But there is no deal happening.
There is no Ronan.
For a few precious seconds, Declan just stands there, listening hard as if Ronan might just be in another part of the room. But there's nothing but the sound of his pulse throbbing in his ears. Maybe Ronan left and didn't text. It wouldn't even be the first time. Maybe he's circled round, back out at the BMW--
Then he sees it. Ronan's phone discarded on the floor. Slow and deliberate, Declan goes to it, crouches down to pick it up. There's nothing there but the open message window.
Nothing yet.
For most of his life, Declan Lynch has done everything in his power to keep his brother safe from everyone, even himself. And in the space of fifteen fucking minutes, he's lost him. He takes a deep breath and pushes down the rising panic. Panicking won't help him find Ronan. He slips the phone into his pocket and texts their backup. He can't alert anyone to this. They can't know the Greywaren is a person.
Fuck fuck fuck.
"Goddamnit, Ronan," he whispers into the empty space. "You better stay alive."
Wherever he is, Declan will come for him.
But first, he needs resources.