She recovered quickly. Too quickly. “You must be Lucas,” she said, voice light but hands trembling around the mug she held. Lucas offered a polite smile, but the way she kept watching him—like trying to memorize the lines of his face—sent a chill up his spine.
That night, while Rose gave him the grand tour of her childhood bedroom, Kiara hovered nearby. At first, it was little things—offhand questions about his family tree, where he was born, how far back he knew his lineage. She smiled through it, but her eyes stayed searching. Hungry.