"He'll live," Theodore said simply, his tone as cold as the winter winds.
"I didn't take enough to kill him."
"That's not the point!" Caera snapped, her voice rising. She gestured to Sova's limp form. "Look at him! Look at what you've done! How can you just… just act like this is normal?"
An almost sad and reminiscent expression appeared on the boy's normally stoic face, as he ran a hand through his dishevelled off-white hair. "Because it is normal," he admitted, his voice tinged with a kind of pain his sister had not seen before. "For me, at least. This isn't the first time, sis... I've been doing this for years."
The weight of his words hit her like a blow to the chest. Her knees threatened to give out beneath her as she tried to process what he'd just said.
"For years?" she whispered, her voice barely audible. "You've been… drinking blood for years?"
