Anne's throat tightened. Her hands clutched Augustine's sleeve. "I won't pretend," she said, her voice quiet but unwavering. "Yes, I'm scared. This place is brutal, bloody. Every bone in my body tells me to run."
Lucien chuckled, cold and knowing. "Then listen to it. Weak hearts don't last here. You are not made for this world. And you are certainly not made for him. Walk away while you still can."
"Lucien," Augustine grunted. "That's enough. You are scaring her."
"I'm giving her the truth," Lucien replied without flinching. "This life eats people alive. You know it. If she can't accept the beast, then she has no business with you. Better she walks now than breaks later. I'm doing you a favor."
Lucien's presence was like a coiled storm—dangerous, unpredictable, the kind that made her skin prickle with instinctual dread. Yet even with fear curling around her spine, Anne couldn't stay silent.
