LUCIAN'S P.O.V.
I stared at the mountain of paperwork on my desk, but my mind was elsewhere. Ares, my ever-annoying, ever-persistent companion, was in the middle of one of his rants.
"She's here! I feel her presence. Teresa's close, Lucian. You can't ignore this!"
I pinched the bridge of my nose, exhaling sharply. "Ares, you've been saying this for two years. TWO. YEARS. Every time you think you 'feel' her, we go chasing shadows. Do you know how exhausting that is?"
"This is different," Ares insisted, his voice tinged with urgency. "I know it's her. Don't act like you can't feel it too."
I leaned back in my chair, staring at the ceiling. Of course, I felt it. This pull in my chest, this ache in my gut—it was familiar, maddeningly so. But we'd been burned before. Chasing Teresa's presence had only led to dead ends and heartbreak.
