“It’s all right,” Lucian said evenly. “No one is taking what’s yours.”
Dorian’s growl deepened—then stuttered, like something inside him recognized the truth of the words even as the shift fought to finish.
Casius stepped closer, careful, one hand raised. “You’re not alone,” he said. “You don’t have to choose yet. Just be.”
The marsh held its breath again.
Whatever Dorian was becoming—wolf, Lycan, something older still—it was clear to everyone watching:
This wasn’t a creature being born.
It was a power returning.
And the world had just noticed.
The marsh had gone unnaturally quiet.
No insects. No frogs. Even the water seemed to hold its breath, black and glassy beneath the moon.
Dorian stood ankle-deep at the edge of the reeds, chest bare, rain-cool air brushing skin that felt to
