Lucian
Two Days Later
Darian called me back to the right wing not long after breakfast. His voice had that edge, tight, urgent, and I knew something was wrong.
Mara and I hurried, not even stopping to ask questions.
When we entered, I froze.
My father was on his knees.
Martha stood in front of him, eyes red, a small bag clutched in her hand.
She was leaving him.
Tears streamed down her face, and I realized then, this wasn’t anger. This was hurt. Deep, layered, and old.
“What’s happening?” Mara asked quietly.
My father stood, struggling to compose himself. “She’s leaving me,” he said, almost choking on the words.
We all looked to Martha.
She took a trembling breath, then spoke, her voice soft but steady, each word soaked in thirty years of pain.
“I just need time, Vander,” she
