Ares breaks the silence, his question carrying important clarification:
"Meaning Theo won't have access to you romantically, yes?" His tone remains carefully neutral, though something protective flashes in his eyes as he awaits my response.
"That's correct," I confirm, meeting his gaze steadily to ensure no misunderstanding lingers between us. The boundaries being established here matter for all our relationships moving forward, not just my evolving dynamic with Warren.
Having settled this critical point, I take a step forward until I'm standing directly before Warren. Crouching down despite the twinge of pain from my healing wound, I soften my gaze as our eyes meet on the same level.
"Thank you," I whisper, the words emerging with unexpected emotion, "for protecting and saving me."
He slowly nods, something profound passing between us in the silence that follows. A shared smile forms, tentative but genuine, acknowledging that this is the best way for us to start over.
To build something real and loving without hiding emotions and feelings. To create a foundation based on honesty rather than assumptions or unspoken expectations.
The moment stretches between us, fragile and precious in its newness, until the sound of footsteps breaks the spell.
All eyes turn toward the entrance as two figures approach our gathered group, their arrival shifting the atmosphere instantly from intimate reconciliation to sudden alertness.
"Hannah?" I ask, straightening from my crouched position with a speed that sends a sharp pain through my side. Surprise colors my tone as her usual perfect composure is slightly frayed around the edges.
She comes to a stop, looking visibly relieved to see me standing and okay, but I can see the lines of stress and concern etched into her typically unreadable expression.
"Where's Matteo?" Ares questions as he rises from his seat, tension radiating from his normally relaxed posture. The other Kings gather near me instinctively, a protective formation that happens without conscious coordination—each moving to position themselves strategically around their Queen.
I watch the way Hannah's gaze shifts to Ren, something meaningful passing between them before Ren sighs heavily.
"I haven't told them yet," he admits, resignation coloring his tone as he runs a hand through his teal-streaked hair.
"Told us what?" Zander demands, his voice carrying that dangerous edge that always precedes violence. His body coils with predatory readiness, forest-green eyes scanning for threats even as he maintains his position at my side.
Ren sighs again, more dramatically this time, before gesturing toward Hannah with a flourish that doesn't quite mask his evident tension.
"Wanna break the ice here?"
Hannah opens her mouth to respond, but the rough voice comes from the figure behind her, stepping forward out of the shadows to claim the spotlight.
"Matteo's missing," he announces without preamble, each word falling like stone into still water. "The Blind One has him."
The declaration hits like a physical blow, making my breath catch as implications cascade through my mind. Matteo —my controlled, calculating King, my husband in the eyes of Leighton's elite— in the hands of the man who nearly succeeded in killing me.
Shit...
I process the stranger's presumption in delivering this news. In walking into our sanctuary uninvited, acting as though he has any right to command our attention or dictate the flow of information.
"And who the hell are you?" I demand, crossing my arms over my chest to emphasize my authority.
My tone carries enough frost to make Hannah's eyebrows lift slightly in surprise, though she maintains careful neutrality as attention shifts to me.
The stranger's expression flickers with something like offense before morphing into confusion, then dawning realization. The transformation is fascinating to watch — emotions playing across features that bear a striking similarity to Matteo's perfect bone structure, though softened by youth and less rigid control.
He looks like Matteo…only younger.
I can't help but look at Zander, my eyes locking with his in silent question.
He moves immediately, crossing the space between us with fluid grace until he's directly before me. His hand lifts to my chin, tilting my face upward as he studies my eyes with unsettling intensity.
"Sweet Dynamite," he says, voice pitched low with concern, "you don't know who that is?"
"Why would I?" I counter, irritation making me roll my eyes despite the growing tension. "Who is he? A Matteo wannabe? He looks like the younger version of him, but other than that, I don't know who he is." My voice rises slightly with frustration as I continue, "Waltzing in here like he owns this place or something?"
