The dungeon air remains heavy with the weight of what has already been revealed, but the hum beneath the stone no longer feels like imminent rupture, and instead it settles into a low persistent awareness that threads through my ribs and into the bond I share with Axel and Atticus.
Lucian watches the three of us with an expression that is no longer amused or taunting, but calculating in a way that suggests he has been waiting for this exact realization to surface.
“You are not the first,” he says quietly, and the statement lands without drama but with precision.
Axel’s hand remains steady at the back of my neck, and Atticus’s palm stays firm against my spine, and neither of them move away from me as if separation now would be strategically foolish rather than emotionally difficult.
“Be
