Lucan didn’t let go of my hand, not even after we sat down. His grip was steady, protective, and maybe a little too much so. I turned to him and gave a small, reassuring nod. “Let go of me,” I said softly. “I’ve got this.” His gaze lingered on me longer than necessary. He was searching my face as if to make absolutely sure. Then, quietly, he asked, “Promise me you will not listen to echoes and stay alert?” There it was, that mix of faith and fear. He had high expectations of me, always had, but no amount of confidence could completely mask the worry in his eyes. He was very much unlike Veylor, who loved to push me to the abyss. “I promise.” I vowed. For a moment, neither of us moved. Then he exhaled and finally released my hand. My palm felt oddly cold without his warmth, but I straightened, focusing on the moment instead of the hollow ache that followed. The werewolf stood before us, still visibly unsettled by Lucan’s earlier glare. Clasping his hands together, he of
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