**LILA POV**
Rylan fills in the missing pieces carefully.
Reluctantly.
Not all at once. Not with a neat explanation that ties everything together and asks me to feel grateful for it. He does it the way someone tells the truth when they know it won’t land cleanly and they’re bracing for the impact.
We’re sitting at the edge of the training grounds, far enough from the packhouse that conversations don’t echo, close enough that it doesn’t look like secrecy. He chose the spot deliberately. Neutral ground. No walls. No corners to back anyone into. The dirt is packed hard beneath us, scarred with old footprints and training marks, the residue of years of discipline and repetition.
Rylan drags the toe of his boot through the dirt before he speaks, drawing a shallow line he doesn’t seem to no
