-Lucien Draven:
I held Elara in my arms, feeling her soft sobs rattle through my chest. She was so small like this—so vulnerable, curled up against me with tears staining her cheeks.
My throat tightened at the sight of her pain, at the knowledge that I was part of the reason she hurt so much. Because if I hadn't turned Ronan, none of this would be happening. None of us would be hurting like this.
I brushed my fingers through her long, red hair, pressing a gentle kiss to her temple. She hiccupped, burying her face against my shoulder.
"He hates us," she whispered, voice muffled. "He hates… everything. And I can't blame him."
I couldn't deny it. Ronan's hatred was a living thing, clawing at him, warping his every thought. I could see it in his eyes every time he looked at me—like I was the source of all his suffering. And maybe I was.
"He's hurting," I murmured, stroking Elara's hair. "He doesn't know how to handle it."
