“Ele… eleven years,” she said quietly, and the voice was uneven. “Then he sent me to London for studies.”
I watched her closely. Every word carried history.
“You miss him,” I said.
She nodded instantly. No hesitation. That alone told me everything.
“He’s already dead,” I said flatly the same truth I had told her the day I took her.
Her head snapped up.
“No,” she said, eyes blazing through tears. “He’s not dead. And what proof do you even have?” Her voice shook, but her conviction didn’t. “He can’t be killed. He has protection. The best protection.”
I let out a slow breath, my jaw tightening. “Why would I lie to you?” I asked coldly.
She didn’t back down.
“Because you’re a bastard,” she said, raw and fearless. For a second, anger surged sharp, violent, familiar. My fists clenched
