Lucas stepped inside, uninvited as usual. Despite not sharing Liam's military background, he moved with a quiet confidence that made it seem like he belonged, as if intruding was just another casual habit.
His tall frame filled the doorway, and his presence seemed to swallow the air around him. Blue eyes, as cold as the winter skies, surveyed the room with sharp precision.
His blonde hair, much like Liam's, was slicked back in perfect control, yet there was something distinctly unsettling about him. There was a sinister sharpness in Lucas's face—a cruel glint in his eyes—that distinguished him from his younger brother.
He was older, by nearly a decade, and his features were harder, colder, as though he had seen and caused enough damage to permanently etch it into his skin. The years had not softened Lucas; they had chiseled him into something terrifying.
