The morning air was calm, deceptively peaceful, as the Gamma approached the healer’s house under the pretense of offering apologies. His shoulders were hunched with the weight of false grief, his eyes misted just enough to pass as genuine sorrow. But beneath the surface—rage simmered, hot and thick like molten steel.
Inside, Ella lay on the cot, still pale but slowly regaining color. Her eyes fluttered open at the sound of the door creaking.
Damian was seated beside her, fingers gently intertwined with hers. Lucian stood nearby, ever watchful, arms crossed as the Gamma entered.
The moment their eyes met, Damian stood. “Gamma,” he greeted, his tone guarded but not hostile. “Didn’t expect you here.”
The Gamma lowered his head. “I come not as a warrior, but as a grieving father.” His voic
