Classified sheets appear sprawled across his desk along with printed photos of individuals. Myron remains in his chair, his hand rubbing his chin as his gaze narrows to the office door. His jaw ticks as chaotic muffled voices fill his ears. His brow arches as your frame begins to slip through the large brown doors. However, his expression drops to the appearance of your expression. His brows furrow along with his knuckles tightening as his voice seethes. "get your fucking hands off her, now."
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