Chapter 99: Not Eighteen
His confession explained the way he moved—calm, measured, like someone who had already burned once and didn’t fear the fire anymore. It explained the bite in his voice, the instinct to recoil from anything that resembled a leash. The way he read people, not with curiosity, but with grim calculation.
It explained why, from the moment Trevor met him, Lucas had never felt like an eighteen-year-old boy.
He carried himself like someone older. Not just in trauma—but in clarity. In quiet rage. In defiance that had already cost him everything once.
Trevor looked down at him again. Lucas was still asleep, tucked against his chest like the tension had finally left him. But the weight he carried was still there. Always would be.
Trevor rested his chin gently atop Lucas’s head, his voice low even in the silence.
"You came back for a reason," he murmured. "And I’m going to make sure you live long enough to decide what that reason is."
Because if Lucas was right—and Trevor had no doubt now that he was—then what they were up against wasn’t just Agatha.
It was a legacy.
A system built on ownership, bloodlines, and unnatural control.
And Lucas, for all his softness now, was the blade poised to cut it all down.
NovelFire
Trevor would sharpen it. Stand behind it. Die beside it, if he had to, but he would never let it be dulled again.
He pressed a button for Windstone.