Ethan
The soft knock on the door broke the silence of my office. I glanced up from the history book I’d been poring over, its worn pages spread across my desk, filled with fragmented accounts of hybrids and their place, or absence, in our world. The dim light of the desk lamp flickered slightly, casting elongated shadows across the room, mirroring the weight pressing against my chest.
“Come in,” I called, my voice more tired than I intended.
The door creaked open, revealing Conor. He stepped inside hesitantly, his tall frame filling the doorway. He looked so much like Dylan that it stopped me for a moment - a pang of grief sharp and relentless cutting through me. The same fiery red hair, though his was slightly shorter, the same piercing green eyes, and the same freckles scattered acros
