CHAPTER TWELVE
LOCHLAN
Lochlan was probably never going to sleep again.
Not with Brea Robinson's voice in his head.
"I wish this was all a dream."
She hadn't known he'd followed her to the courtyard or that he'd watched her just like so many times before. Not talking or revealing his presence. Only listening, seeing.
And what he'd seen was a girl who didn't want to be here. She didn't see how much she truly belonged, how the people reacted to her.
How Lochlan reacted to her.
The first time he'd wanted to reach out to her instead of just watching in the human realm was when he was seventeen years old. He'd walked across the barren fields stretching in front of the Robinson's house. Paint curled and peeled from the worn wooden walls. A tire swing hung from the large oak in the yard,
