Diana’s question still echoed in my mind as we took our seats in Allen’s office. “Why are you helping me?” she had asked. Now, as I looked around at the tense faces before me, I knew it was time to give her more than just words—I had to get to the truth.
Allen’s office, still carrying the tension from our earlier conversation, felt stifling as we took our seats. I carefully chose the seating arrangement—Diana next to Breona for support, her brother across from her, and the warrior, Marcus Thomas, sitting with calculated distance. His posture was rigid, his expression unreadable, but the stiffness in his shoulders spoke volumes. Michael, on the other hand, was barely containing his fury.
The weight of what Diana had shared in our mental link lingered in my mind. I had glimpsed the scars s
