Lucian's hand stilled where it touched hers.
His lips parted, but no sound came out at first. Then he lowered his gaze, as if trying to find the right words in the flickering shadows cast by the lanterns overhead.
"I do trust you," he finally said, voice quiet. "More than I trust myself sometimes. That's the problem."
Olivia's brows drew together. "What do you mean?"
He looked up, meeting her eyes. There was something vulnerable in his expression—raw and unguarded, a sharp contrast to the stoic version of him she had grown used to.
"I remember things I shouldn't. I dream about a life I never lived. And sometimes… sometimes I see myself doing things that feel too real to be dreams." His jaw clenched. "What if the reason I kept my distance wasn't just for your safety—but because I'm scared of what I'll become if I get too close?"
The words lingered between them, heavier than the silence.
