The warmth and laughter in the room feel almost surreal to Anakin—like a cruel joke the universe is playing. His shoulders stay tense, eyes flicking to every shadow, every corner, half-expecting Gabriel’s hunters to burst through the walls. But all he gets are Zane's smirk and Zara’s calculating gaze as if they’re trying to dissect him.
“Relax, cousin,” Zane drawls, tossing a dark curl out of his eyes. “We don’t bite—well, she might.” He jerks a thumb at Zara, whose glare could peel paint.
Zara scoffs, crossing her arms. “Says the shadow manipulator with zero impulse control.”
“Ah, sibling rivalry,” Dante mutters, slumping deeper into the couch. “Love to see it. Real wholesome.”
Aamon ignores them, his eyes fixed on Anakin. “So, Gabriel’s back. Want to tell me how the hell that
