She doesn’t let go of my hand. But her eyes… that softness is gone. What replaces it is something I know too well—pity.
Before I can speak, she turns to Luca. “I knew it. It’s all my fault…”
Her voice breaks, and her hand on mine starts to shake. Luca moves fast, wrapping her up, catching her before she collapses to the floor. Tears brim at the corners of her eyes, and she presses her face to his chest.
Her fault? My sickness…herfault?
“What’s going on?” My pulse slams in my ears as I dare to place my hand over her trembling grip.
“How do you know about my sickness?”
“Because it’s not a sickness.”
What?
I step closer, needing to look her directly in the eyes. “What do you mean?”
“When did you start taking it?” she pushes, voice sharp now, demanding.
I look around the room frantically. Am I the only one shocked? Do they all know something I don’t?
“The last thing you should do is keep taking that ‘medicine,’” she says again, firmer. The wordmedicinecomes out almost like a mock, as if the idea of calling it that disgusts her.
“My father has given it to me for as long as I can remember,” I manage to choke out. “My mother had the same… sickness.”
Her eyes widen, horror spilling across her face. “Shit.”
She lets go of my arm abruptly. Luca guides her to a nearby sofa, gently lowering her down and holding her tight, not letting her slip away.
It’s not just me now—none of us dares to breathe, afraid the tension might shatter the air itself.
“What’s happening?”
Pedro’s voice slices through the silence as he steps inside the room, casual, almost oblivious.
“I’m here too,” another voice calls. A tall woman strides in, dressed like she just stepped out of a luxury gala—heels, a long, satin pink dress that shimmers with every step.
Chris’s father moves toward her instantly, pulling her into a deep, almost desperate kiss, like they’re the only two people left alive.
She’s Chris’s mom?
She looks older than Bay or Malec’s mother, but still striking, radiant—mid-forties, maybe. Like my mother… before she rotted under that sickness. If she hadn’t decayed, would myfather have let her go? Or would he have kept her locked away forever, worshiping her beauty until it vanished?
I tear my gaze away as everyone turns their attention back to Luca and Alin.
“What did I miss? You called me,” Pedro says, glancing between them.
“Alin?” He raises an eyebrow, finally sensing the weight in the room.
So her name is Alin.
“I need you to go get Malec. Bring him back here. Now.”
It’s supposed to be a command, but it sounds more like a plea. Her hand trembles in her lap until Luca covers it with his own, resting her head against his chest.
Wasn’t he called here to help me?
“It’s not your fault,” Luca murmurs into her hair, kissing the top of her head softly. “You couldn’t have known. And thanks to you, we solved a big problem.”
