Third Person’s POV
The clock on the wall ticked past 10:00 PM.
Lucien paced back and forth in the sitting room like a storm waiting to break, his arms crossed so tightly that his knuckles had gone white. Damon leaned against the fireplace, the glass of untouched whiskey in his hand, eyes sharp as flint.
Lukas sat half-slouched on the leather couch, tossing popcorn into his mouth, clearly trying to avoid eye contact.
"He’s never stayed out this late without checking in," Lucien snapped.
“He’s eighteen,” Damon said dryly, but his tone was laced with unease. “Still, the boy’s becoming a damn headache. First the tutors. Then the school fights. Now he thinks he can stay out like it’s some wild vacation?”
“He’s not careless,” Lucien defended, though his own worry cracked through the ed
