LUCA
Darrel closed the front door behind us with a quiet click, tossing his glasses onto the couch. I leaned against the wall for a moment, trying to steady my breathing. My body was in Aveline, safe in the comfort of my home, but my mind refused to settle. Every conversation we’d had in Morca played on repeat. Every glance, every comment from Savon, and every subtle challenge, were all still lodged in my thoughts.
“You need to calm down,” Darrel said, his voice gentle but firm, as he placed his bag on the table. “You haven’t rested since yesterday. The gala is tonight. You should lie down for a while before we go.”
I shook my head, my frustration bubbling over. “I am not going.”
Darrel froze mid-movement, one hand still on his bag. He turned slowly and studied me. “You are not going?
