Lucian
I never expected Mara to take what I said to my father so seriously. Yes, the attacks had been increasing, and yes, we were training like war was coming—but I didn’t believe it would reach that point. Not yet. None of the skirmishes had required my presence so far.
And dragging the army into Martha’s mess? That still didn’t sit right with me. Her ghosts were hers. If Alaric Moongrove even existed, he wasn’t our responsibility. I still believed she made him up. A story. A shield.
Mara’s voice pulled me from my thoughts.
“Lucian,” she said softly.
We were lying on the picnic mat, completely bare beneath the dying sun. Her head rested on my chest, the steady rhythm of her breathing syncing with mine. I traced slow, lazy patterns along her back, encouraging her to speak.
“Say it,”
