“You’re all… werewolves?” I stuttered, losing my words. The moment the words escaped my lips, they felt ridiculous, like I had spoken the plot of a bad fantasy movie. Yet, the seriousness in Lucian’s eyes told me otherwise.
He stood a few feet away, his posture calm but heavy with meaning, the kind that made the air feel dense. Around us, the greenhouse glowed softly with sunlight filtering through the glass, resting on the leaves of tall ferns and rows of herbs that smelled like mint and soil. The place would have become my escape space, but now it was turning into the stage for a revelation I could barely grasp.
Lucian’s lips curved slightly, not in amusement but in quiet understanding. “Yes,” he said, his voice low but steady. “We are not myths, Maeve. We exist. We have always existed
