"It's been so long. I should move on."
"Move on?"
His expression changed sharply, and he reached out almost reflexively, his fingers closing around my wrist.
"What do you mean by that?"
A sting of pain shot through my wrist. I frowned and wrenched free. "Let go. You're hurting me."
The moment I pulled away, he seemed to realize he'd lost composure. After all, right now he was supposed to be the younger brother, "Caelan Nightfang," and nothing more.
He forced his emotions down, though his jaw stayed tight. His voice dropped low. "You're leaving?"
I met his gaze head-on, unflinching, as though I could see straight through him.
"What, you don't want me to go?"
For a single instant his eyes wavered, struck by something. A flicker of unease surfaced, as if he suspected I might have already uncovered the truth.
But he dismissed the thought just as quickly, and the surface calm settled back into place.
No. She loved him that deeply. If she really knew, there was no way she could stand here looking this composed.
With that reassurance, his emotions steadied again, and his tone returned to its usual cool detachment.
"Don't listen to Grandfather. The Nightfang Pack can provide for you. I promised my brother I'd look after you properly. I won't betray his trust. So don't think about leaving. You stay where I can keep eyes on you."
A laugh escaped me when I heard that.
It tasted of bitterness and irony too tangled to name.
I couldn't make sense of him. If I simply left, everything would fall neatly into place. He could stand openly at Chloe Ashford's side without having to manage me, without worrying that one day I'd notice the cracks in his disguise.
So why was he acting as though he didn't want to let me go?
The laugh, half-formed and edged with tears, seemed to catch him off guard. His expression stalled. He was about to speak when his communicator buzzed. The sharp chime cut through the quiet air, jarringly loud.
He glanced down at the caller. The hard lines of his face softened at once.
He answered, and Chloe Ashford's voice came through, soft and coaxing.
"Darling, is the soup ready? I'm so hungry."
His tone turned gentle in a way I'd never heard directed at me. "Almost done. I'll bring it over soon. Be good, just wait a little longer."
We were close enough that every word reached me. Her voice carried that teasing, pampered lilt as she complained lightly.