Azriel's Point Of View
Lucien's eyes glinted, sharp, dangerous, alive. The moment stretched, taut as a bowstring, and then he finally allowed the faintest hint of a smirk, acknowledging the chaos, acknowledging me, acknowledging the spark that refused to die despite every hard rule, every scar, every calculated choice we'd ever made.
And as I pulled myself up fully, straightened my jacket, and let the taste of blood and blueberry linger just a moment longer on my tongue, I couldn't help but whisper under my breath, almost to myself, almost to the empty room filled with memories of our shared childhood wars,
"Still hits like a damn truck…"
Lucien's voice cut through the quiet like glass snapping under pressure.
"Wipe that smirk off your face, boy," he said, low, controlled, lethal in that calm way that always made people underestimate how close he was to snapping. "Before I do that for you."
