Lycan's Prey by Jessica Hall

Chapter 90

Damian’s expression hardens, the lines of his face drawing into a map of skepticism. “You’re putting everyone at risk. This is exactly why you should never have let her come here. If she’s hiding something-”

“Then we will deal with it when we must.” I interrupt, firm, my anger at his words overriding his doubt. “But not before then. We owe her that much.”

“You owe her nothing! This is going to go bad. She could be anyone! Why can’t you see that? She is hiding something, Soren. And you are too bloody blinded by your feelings for the girl. You can’t see what is right in front of your face!”

“She has not tried to do anything; if she were planning to try something, she would have done it by now!” I snap.

He doesn’t look convinced, but he nods stiffly. The gesture is one of compliance rather than agreement. “Very well. But remember, it’s your life and your son’s on the line too.”

As Damian exits, leaving behind a charged silence, I can’t help but feel the weight of his warning. But my gut tells me Bree’s secrets aren’t the kind that should cast her out into the cold- not yet, not without proof. And until then, I stand with him; she has done nothing wrong that should make me alarmed for the safety of anyone here.

The door clicks shut, the finality of its sound echoing through the empty hallway as I hear voices outside. Moving toward the window, I see Bree step out into the cool evening. I watch

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window, a gnawing unease settling in my stomach.

hidden Perspex dome

eyes on her when the shift took her. And so, against every protective urge screaming within me, I let her go. I settle back to work behind

My parents exchange measured conversation over the roast, but their words are distant hums against the buzz of my own thoughts. Max, my little shadow, seems to sense the tension; his fork pushes around the peas on his plate more than it brings them to his mouth. His usual chatter is absent, and he keeps glancing at the empty chair where Bree would normally sit. Every so often, his eyes meet mine, filled with unspoken questions and a hint of worry. His silence only

through the polite veneer of dinner, small and somber. It’s a mirror of how he sounded last month when Bree had

his half–eaten meal and offer a soft smile. “I’ll come up soon to tuck

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of relief in his eyes, and scampers away from the

floor.

engaging in the necessary chatter, but my thoughts chase after Max, looping back to Bree and snagging on the ragged edges of Damian’s warnings. The meal ends but not soon enough, and I excuse myself from the table with a feigned weariness that isn’t entirely an act. As I walk away, a heavy sense of unease settles over me, making each step feel like a struggle. My mind is a tangled web of worry and doubt. The weight of Damian’s