Serayah Cressors.
“Just a conversation.” I whisper as I button his shirt.
My fingers delay over each clasp as if holding onto time itself.
“Yes, Serayah. It is not the real fight… yet.” Roar’s breath warms my hair. When I look up, I sigh at his face which is not stricken by blood yet. I can’t help myself. I cannot hide my fear. I compass my arms around his body to hug him and he pulls me in just as tightly.
We spoke all through last night. He told me it would be easy. But it’s not easy.
His arms encase me like a shield and I stay in it.
“Kylan needs you.” I whisper.
Roar has a son waiting for him. Depending on him. Yet here he is, walking into danger. And it haunts me like a vice. This is pulling me back to where it all began. A cycle repeating itself. This same recklessness, this
