I can hear them before I see them. Their voices, low but tense, echo down the hallway like thunder rumbling before a storm. Finn stands guard by the door, his posture rigid, his piercing eyes scanning me as I approach. He doesn’t stop me, only gives a subtle nod, his lips pressed into a thin line. Despite Diarmid’s earlier order, I can’t just sit there while chaos brews.
“You had no right to act like this!” Diarmid’s voice cuts through the heavy air, sharp and laced with frustration, a tone I’ve never heard him use before.
“I had every right,” Michael retorts, his words icy and precise. “She’s under my protection, and you’re putting her in danger by dragging her into this.”
“Danger?” Diarmid scoffs, his laugh devoid of humor. He steps closer to Michael, his larger frame looming. “She’s safer here with me than anywhere else. You think you can protect her? You have no idea what she’s up against—or what that thing earlier was!”
Michael’s jaw tightens, his eyes burning with defiance. “Better than whatever secrets you’re hiding,” he fires back. “Don’t think I don’t know what you are. You can’t fool me.”
My heart pounds in my chest like a drumbeat of impending doom as I step into the room. Both men freeze, their gazes locking like two predators squaring off, a silent battle of wills. The room is charged, the air thick with anger and the unspoken truths teetering on the edge of revelation.
“Stop it!” I blurt out, my voice trembling but loud enough to shatter the building tension. “Please, just stop!”
Diarmid’s head snaps toward me, his jaw clenching tighter, his shoulders taut. For a moment, his intense blue-grey eyes soften as they meet mine, but the storm within them remains. Michael, on the other hand, exhales slowly and looks away, retreating a step, through the fire in his gaze doesn’t waver.
“We’re supposed to be on the same side,” I continue, trying to keep my voice steady despite the emotions clawing at my throat. “Fighting each other won’t help. If you care about me at all, then stop this.”
For a moment, the room is silent except for the distant sound of Finn shifting his weight by the door. Diarmid’s shoulders drop slightly, though his fists remain clenched at his sides.
“Fine,” he mutters at last, his voice low but with an edge of resignation. “But this isn’t over.” His eyes flicker to Michael, a silent warning in them.
Michael straightens, his expression unreadable. “We’ll talk later,” he says flatly, his tone carrying both promise and threat.
I exhale shakily as the tension begins to dissolve, though the room still feels heavy with words left unsaid.
Diarmid turns toward me, his steps deliberate and measured, as if each one is fighting against the storm of emotions swirling within him. When he reaches me, his arms wrap around me without hesitation, pulling me close. The warmth of his embrace is both a comfort and a shield, his strength grounding me amidst the chaos. I can feel the tension still thrumming through his body, his heartbeat strong and rapid against mine.
For a moment, I allow myself to lean into him, to take solace in the protection he offers. But as Michael stands in the center of the living room, his presence unwavering, my focus shifts.
I glance up at Diarmid, meeting his gaze. His eyes search mine, questioning, almost pleading for something I can’t quite name. Slowly, I tilt my head toward Michael, silently asking for permission, for understanding, that I need to go to him.
Diarmid’s jaw tightens, his hold on me briefly tightening as though he’s reluctant to let go. But then, with a deep breath, he nods, the smallest gesture of reluctant acceptance. His hands drop from my shoulders, and though he steps back, the weight of his presence lingers like a shadow, protective and watchful.
I turn and take a step toward Michael, my heart heavy with the divide between the two men. He watches me approach, his expression carefully guarded, but the tension in his shoulders betrays the storm raging within him.
“Michael,” I begin softly, my voice tinged with uncertainty and the hope of reconciliation. “We need to talk.”
"Of course," Michael replied, his tone steady, though his eyes flickered with a hint of something unreadable as he gave Diarmid a measured look.
The tension between them was palpable, a silent storm brewing beneath the surface. I swallowed hard, feeling the weight of the unspoken words between the three of us.
I gestured toward the couch, silently inviting Michael to sit. He hesitated for a moment, then moved to take a seat, his posture calm but alert. As he settled in, Finn slipped out of the room, his presence disappearing like a wisp of air, leaving the space heavier with unvoiced emotions.
Diarmid remained standing by the liquor cabinet. I watched as he poured a generous amount of whiskey into a crystal glass, his movements slow and deliberate, as though the act itself was his anchor amidst the rising tension. His silence was louder than any words, a quiet assertion of his presence and his stake in this moment.
Michael’s gaze shifted between the two of us, his expression still composed, but I could see the faint crease in his brow, the way his fingers tapped once against his thigh before stilling—a sign of his own internal unease.
I took my place in the armchair opposite Michael, feeling the pressure of both their gazes on me. My throat felt dry, my thoughts tangled, but I knew I couldn’t hesitate. Not now.
Diarmid leaned against the fireplace mantel, his glass in hand, but he didn’t drink. Instead, he watched me intently, his piercing eyes unreadable yet unwavering, as if silently urging me to speak.
"Erm... I saw it again, Michael," I said hesitantly, my voice barely above a whisper. My fingers fidgeted in my lap, and I bit my lip, feeling the tension roll off me like invisible waves, pooling around the room.
Michael’s eyes narrowed, his sharp gaze pinning me in place. “What? Nick?” he asked, his confusion evident.
Oh, right. I forgot. I never told him about the hooded figure. Only Diarmid and his friends knew about it, though technically, I didn’t tell them either—they saw it for themselves.
“No… not Nick,” I replied, shaking my head. My chest felt heavy as I glanced at Michael, his confusion deepening with every passing second. “I’ve been… seeing something. A figure. It’s like a grim reaper, you know? Hooded, shadowy, with a scythe.”
I met his gaze directly, forcing myself not to look away, though my stomach churned under the weight of my words. The room seemed to grow colder, the air thicker as the implications settled between us.
Michael straightened in his seat, his lips pressing into a thin line as his brows furrowed in thought. His silence stretched, but his reaction wasn’t anger or disbelief—it was something deeper, like pieces of a puzzle falling into place.
Behind me, I felt Diarmid shift. His presence was grounding, a quiet strength that steadied me despite the turmoil swirling in my chest. He stepped closer, and though he didn’t say a word, the warmth of his proximity was unmistakable.
I glanced over my shoulder, catching the subtle tension in Diarmid’s jaw, the way his eyes darkened with a protective edge. His hand brushed my shoulder lightly, a silent reassurance that he was there, that I wasn’t alone in this.
Michael finally spoke, his voice low and measured. “How long, Arwen? How long have you been seeing this figure?”
“It’s been a while,” I admitted, my voice barely above a murmur. “Like… before everything happened. Even before Nick disappeared.”
Michael’s expression darkened, the tension in his posture growing visibly. His sharp gaze shifted to Diarmid, and his tone carried a firm edge. “Can you give us some room, Diarmid?”
Oh, of course. I knew this was coming. Michael and I needed this conversation—especially since Diarmid didn’t know the truth about me or my family being Nephilim. I glanced at Diarmid, silently pleading with him to comply.
Diarmid, however, remained rooted in place, his stance unwavering. His piercing eyes flicked between Michael and me before settling on Michael. “You know very well that Arwen is my business. I need to be here.”
Michael’s chuckle broke the silence, low and sharp, like the scrape of a blade against stone.
“Your business?” he repeated, his tone laced with sarcasm.
“Maybe you should start by telling Arwen who you really are before making any claims.”
Insult dripped from his words, each one striking like a carefully aimed blow. The tension in the room grew thicker, a palpable clash of dominance and protectiveness between the two men. My heart raced as I watched the unspoken battle play out before me, each of them refusing to back down.
Diarmid’s jaw clenched, his gaze burning with restrained intensity. “What I am doesn’t change the fact that Arwen is under my protection. That’s non-negotiable.”
Michael’s eyes narrowed, his calm veneer threatening to crack. “Protection?” he echoed, his voice cold. “Don’t mistake control for care, Diarmid. Arwen deserves the truth, not a leash.”
Their words hung heavy in the air, charged with unspoken history and conflict. I felt caught between two forces—one tethered to my past, the other anchoring me in the present. Both claimed to care for me, yet their approaches couldn’t be more different.
“Enough,” I said softly, though my voice wavered under the weight of their tension. I looked at both men, my gaze steadying as I found my voice. “This isn’t about who’s right or wrong. This is about figuring out what’s happening… together.”
“You know damn well, Arwen, that this is not his business,” Michael said sharply, his gaze piercing through me. “This isn’t just about you. Remember your parents, Grae, and Nick.”
His words hit like a hammer, the weight of his meaning pressing down on my chest.
I knew exactly what he meant. Diarmid—no, no one—could know about us. It wasn’t just about my safety; it was about the entire Circle. The lives of everyone I cared about were at stake.
I swallowed hard, willing the lump in my throat to dissolve as I forced myself to breathe deeply. Slowly, I stood, my legs feeling unsteady beneath me. My eyes found Diarmid’s, the storm of emotions within them almost too much to bear.
“Diarmid,” I began, my voice soft but firm, “thank you for keeping me safe. You’ve done more for me than I could ever repay.” I paused, the words catching in my throat as I braced myself. “But Michael is right. I need to go. There’s no use involving yourself in this. It’s… it’s not your fight.”
His face was unreadable for a moment, but I could see the flicker of something—hurt? anger?—behind his stoic mask. He stepped forward, his jaw tight. “You think I’m just going to let you walk out of here?” His voice was low, almost a growl. “Into danger, without any explanation?”
“This isn’t about explanations,” I said quickly, my voice trembling despite my efforts to stay composed. “It’s about protecting you. Protecting all of you.”
“Protecting me?” Diarmid’s tone was incredulous now, his eyes narrowing. “Arwen, I’m not some fragile human who needs your protection. I’m—”
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“Diarmid, stop!” I interrupted, my voice rising with desperation. “You don’t understand. You can’t. And that’s why you need to let me go.”
Michael stood silently behind me, his presence a steady anchor, though the tension in the room was suffocating.
Diarmid’s gaze locked on mine, his expression hardening. “You think you can just push me away, but I won’t let you. Not when it comes to you.”
Tears stung the corners of my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. “I have to, Diarmid,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “Please. Trust me. This is for the best.”
He didn’t move, didn’t speak, his silence more cutting than any words he could have said. The distance between us felt unbearable, yet I knew I had to hold firm. For him. For everyone.
I hesitated, searching his face for any hint of doubt. But there was none. Just determination and an unexpected warmth that made me feel safe, even amidst all the uncertainty.
“Arwen, let’s go,” Michael’s gruff voice commanded, his warm hand wrapping around my arm with an unyielding grip.
I barely had time to process his words when a guttural roar ripped through the air, freezing me in place. The sound was primal, fierce, and unmistakably angry. I turned, my gaze locking with Diarmid’s, and what I saw sent a shiver down my spine.
His eyes glowed an otherworldly blue, brighter than anything I’d ever seen. His frame seemed larger, his muscles taut as though his very being was straining against some unseen force.
“Diarmid?” I whispered, my voice trembling, but before I could take a step toward him, Michael’s arm shot out, yanking me behind him.
“Stay back,” Michael growled, his stance protective, his entire body a shield between me and Diarmid.
Diarmid’s roar came again, deeper this time, vibrating through the room with a power that made the air feel heavy. His glowing eyes bore into Michael, and for a moment, it felt as though the very walls around us might crumble under the weight of his fury.
Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Brigit rushing into the room, Finn close behind her. As her gaze fell on Diarmid, her expression shifted from confusion to outright panic.
“Michael, please!” Brigit’s voice was high with urgency as she stepped closer. “Stop touching Arwen.”
Her plea was desperate, her eyes darting between Diarmid and Michael, as though she feared what might happen next.
I looked from one to the other, the pieces of this terrifying puzzle refusing to fit together in my mind.
“What… what is happening?” I whispered, my voice barely audible over the tension crackling in the room.
Brigit ignored me, her focus entirely on Diarmid.
“Diarmid,” she said softly, carefully, as though she were trying to soothe a wild animal.
“It’s okay. You don’t need to do this.”
But Diarmid didn’t seem to hear her. His glowing eyes stayed locked on Michael, his body rigid and brimming with raw power.
“Diarmid, stop!” I cried out, my voice breaking, but it was as though my words couldn’t reach him through the haze of whatever was consuming him.
A guttural growl reverberated through the room as Diarmid’s body convulsed, his muscles rippling unnaturally beneath his skin. Slowly, dark hair began to sprout along his arms, spreading up his neck and across his face. His features contorted, his jaw elongating as sharp fangs erupted from his gums.
His shoulders broadened, tearing the seams of his shirt as his frame grew impossibly large. Hands turned to clawed paws, razor-sharp and gleaming under the flickering light. The once-glowing blue of his eyes burned brighter, now primal and feral, a stark warning of the predator he had become.
“Diarmid, stop!” I screamed, but my voice was drowned out by the sound of bones cracking and reshaping.
Michael’s grip on my arm tightened, but he was no longer looking at me. His gaze was fixed solely on Diarmid, his own body radiating an intense, golden glow.
“You want to play, wolf?” Michael’s voice was a low growl, layered with something unearthly. His entire form pulsed with light, as though fire coursed through his veins. Wings, ethereal yet solid, unfurled from his back, their span magnificent and terrifying. They shimmered with a metallic sheen, every feather a weapon in its own right.
Michael’s eyes turned molten gold, glowing like twin suns. A halo of energy surrounded him, his presence suddenly immense and suffocating, as though he was channeling the full weight of his Nephilim power.
Before I could react, Diarmid lunged, his massive Lycan form a blur of dark fur and claws. Michael met him head-on, his wings snapping out to propel him forward, their clash shaking the very ground beneath us.
Diarmid’s claws raked across Michael’s chest, sparks flying as they met the golden armor-like glow protecting him. Michael retaliated with a powerful strike, his fists charged with divine energy, sending Diarmid skidding across the floor.
But Diarmid wasn’t done. He snarled, his massive paws digging into the floor as he leapt again, this time faster, his jaws snapping inches from Michael’s neck. Michael twisted, his wings slashing through the air like blades, forcing Diarmid back.
The room became a battlefield, each clash of power sending shockwaves through the space. Furniture splintered and walls cracked as the two forces collide—one primal, feral, and unstoppable, the other celestial, radiant, and commanding.
“Stop it!” I screamed, but neither seemed to hear me.
Diarmid roared, his claws swiping wildly as he tried to pin Michael down. Michael countered with a blast of light, forcing Diarmid to stumble, but the Lycan’s sheer resilience was overwhelming.
“You don’t know what you’re doing!” Michael shouted, his voice booming. “Arwen isn’t just yours to claim!”
Diarmid responded with another vicious snarl, his fangs bared as he lunged again. Their fight was a storm of light and shadow, of raw power and divine fury, and I stood frozen, helpless in the face of their wrath.
“Enough!” Brigit’s voice rang out, cutting through the chaos. She stepped forward, her face pale but determined. “Both of you, stop this madness!”
Her words faltered as Diarmid’s glowing eyes flicked to her, his breath ragged and heavy. Michael hesitated too, his golden aura dimming slightly, though his wings remained unfurled, ready for another strike.
I stood frozen, my breath caught in my throat, as Roisin carefully pulled me back. His grip was firm yet gentle, a silent reassurance amid the storm. But as another feral snarl erupted from Diarmid, Finn immediately released me, his gaze flicking between the two men in front of us, his jaw tight with unease.
My wide eyes darted between them, searching for any semblance of control. Michael stood tall, his golden aura flaring around him like a divine shield, radiating the power of his Nephilim lineage. His expression was a mix of anger and calm authority, his every move calculated, his presence commanding. It was a form I’d only seen glimpses of before, one that left no doubt about the celestial power coursing through him.
And then there was Diarmid.
Fierce and wild, he stood like a predator ready to strike. His blue-grey eyes glowed faintly, an otherworldly light piercing through the dim room. His jaw was set, his shoulders squared, and every inch of him exuded an untamed strength that felt ancient, primal, and utterly foreign. The air around him seemed to hum with raw energy, the faintest ripple of something beneath his skin, waiting to be unleashed.
What is he?
The question echoed in my mind, the words unspoken but deafening in their urgency.
Diarmid wasn’t just fierce; he was something more—something that made even Michael hesitate.
I felt the weight of the moment, an inexplicable connection pulling at me, tethering me to Diarmid even as I questioned what he was. My heart pounded in my chest, caught between fear and an unshakable trust I couldn’t explain.
“Enough!” Finn’s voice broke through the tension, sharp and clear, as he stepped forward to position himself between the two. His eyes darted to Diarmid, his voice lowering, almost pleading. “This isn’t the time for this, Diarmid.”
Diarmid’s eyes flicked to me for the briefest moment, softening just enough to send a jolt through my chest, before narrowing back at Michael.
“Then make him stop provoking me,” he growled, his voice guttural, each word laced with the promise of violence barely restrained.
Michael didn’t flinch. “She deserves the truth, Diarmid. No more lies, no more half-truths. She’s already a part of this, whether you like it or not.”
Diarmid’s jaw clenched, his fists tightening at his sides. The energy around him seemed to pulse, a warning, as if his very being was rejecting Michael’s words.
“Stop it!” My voice rang out, surprising even myself. Both men turned toward me, their intensity momentarily broken by my outburst.
“You’re both acting like this is about you, but it’s not. I’m the one stuck in the middle of whatever this is!”
Michael’s aura dimmed slightly, his gaze softening as he turned toward me.
“Arwen—”
“No.” I cut him off, my voice trembling but firm. “I’ve had enough of secrets and cryptic answers. If you want to protect me, then I need to know what’s going on.”
Diarmid’s shoulders dropped slightly, his expression flickering with something I couldn’t quite place—regret, perhaps? Pain? But just as quickly, the mask of defiance returned.
“It’s not that simple,” he muttered, his voice low but carrying the weight of an unspoken truth.
Michael stepped forward, his eyes locked on Diarmid. “It is. She has a right to know.”
Diarmid hesitated, his eyes meeting mine again. For a moment, the room seemed to still, the tension giving way to an unspoken connection between us. And in that fleeting moment, I felt it again—that pull, that inexplicable bond that defied reason.
“I’ll tell her,” Diarmid finally said, his voice softer now, but no less resolute. “But not here. Not like this.”
Michael didn’t look satisfied, but he stepped back, giving a curt nod.
“Then you’d better. Because she deserves the truth, and I won’t let you keep her in the dark.”
Diarmid’s eyes lingered on Michael briefly before shifting back to me.
“Come with me, please,” he said, his voice gentle yet firm, leaving no room for debate.
I glanced at Michael, who nodded reluctantly, and then back at Diarmid. Something in his eyes told me this wasn’t just about the truth—it was about us.
Taking a steadying breath, I stepped forward, leaving the safety of Finn’s protective stance. “Okay,” I whispered, my voice barely audible.
As Diarmid turned to lead the way, I followed, the question still burning in my mind:
What is he?
Diarmid stood a few feet away from me, his towering frame and otherworldly presence filling the room. He had led me into his bedroom—an act that might have felt intrusive under any other circumstances but now seemed natural. My mind reeled with the weight of everything I had just witnessed, yet I felt no fear.
“Please, sit down,” he said, his voice low but steady. His piercing blue-grey eyes met mine, holding a hint of unease I wasn’t used to seeing in him.
I hesitated for a moment before lowering myself onto the edge of the bed, unable to tear my gaze away from him. He remained where he was, as though unsure of what to do next.
“Do you want me to... change?” he asked hesitantly, his words measured. His claws flexed slightly at his sides, a reminder that he was still in his Lycan form.
For a moment, I didn’t understand. Then realization dawned on me. He meant change back—to his human form.
“You can stay as you are,” I said softly, surprising myself with how calm I sounded. “I’m not afraid of you.”
His expression flickered, a mix of relief and disbelief crossing his features. He seemed to relax slightly, though his wolfish appearance still dominated the space.
“You can start,” I continued, my voice firmer now, “by telling me who you are. Really.”
Diarmid moved closer, his broad shoulders casting long shadows in the dim light. His glowing eyes studied me carefully, as though gauging whether I was truly ready to hear the truth.
“I owe you that,” he said, his deep voice carrying a weight of vulnerability. “But it’s not simple, Arwen.”
“I can handle complicated,” I replied, my heart pounding but my gaze steady.
He let out a low sigh, his claws retracting as his hands flexed.
“I’m not human,” he said, his voice deep and rumbling. “At least, not entirely.”
I tilted my head, my confusion evident, but I stayed silent, letting him continue.
“I’m Lycan,” he said, his words deliberate. “A werewolf.”
I blinked, the word settling into the space between us like a foreign entity.
“And you,” he added, his voice softening, “are my erasthai. My soulmate.”
The sincerity in his voice sent a shiver through me. My breath caught as I processed his words, but they didn’t frighten me as much as they should have.
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
“I wanted to,” he admitted, stepping closer. “But I didn’t know how. I didn’t want to scare you, and I... I didn’t want to lose you.”
His words hung in the air, raw and unguarded. For the first time, I saw the man behind the beast—someone burdened by the weight of his own truth.
I took a shaky breath, my heart pounding against my ribs. “And you’re sure... about this? About me?”
“Yes,” he said without hesitation. “From the moment I saw you, I knew. It’s not something I can explain, but I feel it. Every part of me knows you’re meant to be mine.”
The intensity of his words should have scared me, but instead, it left me feeling grounded. As strange as it sounded, a part of me believed him.
“I believe you,” I said, my voice trembling but certain.
The relief in his eyes was palpable. Slowly, his form began to shift, his features softening as the Lycan receded. Within moments, the man stood before me once more—Diarmid, human but no less commanding.
“Thank you,” he said quietly, his voice filled with gratitude. “For trusting me.”
Diarmid stepped closer, his gaze steady and unwavering. “We figure this out together. No more secrets, Arwen. Not from me, and not from you.”
Diarmid’s transformation was seamless but startling. One moment, the massive Lycan stood before me, and in the next, there he was—Diarmid in his human form, bare and unapologetic!
My breath caught as I realized the extent of his confidence—or perhaps lack of awareness. Heat rushed to my cheeks, and I instinctively slapped my hands over my eyes.
“Diarmid?!” I squeaked, the pitch of my voice betraying my mortification.
He chuckled, the sound deep and amused. “Relax, Arwen,” he said with a teasing lilt, the shuffle of his footsteps suggesting he was moving away.
“Relax?” I repeated, my voice muffled behind my hands. “You’re naked!”
I heard him laugh again, followed by the rustle of fabric. “I didn’t think about that. My bad,” he said, his tone far too casual for the situation.
I peeked through my fingers to see him pulling on a pair of dark sweatpants he’d retrieved from a nearby chair. His back was turned, which gave me a moment to breathe.
Once he was properly covered, he turned back toward me, his expression softening when he saw my flustered state. “Better?”
I nodded, though my heart still raced for more reasons than I cared to admit.
Clearing my throat, I shifted awkwardly on the edge of the bed. “Diarmid, I... I need to come clean about something too,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
His brow furrowed slightly as he crossed the room and sat down in a chair opposite me. “I’m listening,” he said, his voice calm and patient.
I fidgeted with my hands, unsure where to begin. “You already know Michael,” I started, glancing up at him. “And what he is.”
Diarmid nodded, his blue-grey eyes locked on mine. “A Nephilim,” he said, his tone cautious.
I took a deep breath, the weight of my confession pressing down on me. “I’m like him. I’m... also a Nephilim.”
Diarmid’s expression didn’t change, but I saw the slight widening of his eyes. “You are?” he asked, his voice measured.
“Yes,” I admitted. “But not like Michael. I’ve never transformed or... done anything like what he did earlier. I don’t even know if I can.”
He leaned back in the chair, his gaze thoughtful as he processed my words. “So, you’ve never tapped into your abilities?”
I shook my head. “Not intentionally. My family—they’re like me. My parents, my brother Nick... even Grae, though he’s just a child.” My voice faltered as I mentioned Nick.
Diarmid’s posture straightened at the mention of my family. “Your brother Nick,” he repeated, his voice softening. “What really happened to him?”
"Nick... and he’s always been my rock, you know? But about a month ago, he just disappeared—no warning, no explanation. It wasn’t like him at all. And as if that wasn’t enough, things started getting really weird around me. I kept seeing this hooded figure, like... watching me, even before Nick vanished. I know Michael and the others are doing everything they can to figure out what’s going on, but I can’t help feeling like everything’s connected somehow. Nick, the hooded figure, the danger—it’s all tangled up together, and I don’t know how to make sense of it."
The vulnerability in my voice seemed to reach him. Diarmid leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he regarded me. “I’m sorry, Arwen,” he said gently.
I nodded, biting my lip to keep my emotions in check. “I don’t even know why I’m telling you all this,” I admitted, looking away.
“Because you trust me,” he said simply.
His words hung in the air, and I realized he was right. Despite everything—despite the chaos and confusion—I did trust him.
Diarmid’s voice softened further as he spoke. “Arwen, whatever you are, whatever your past or your abilities—I’ll protect you. Always.”
His declaration sent a shiver down my spine, and for the first time in a long while, I felt a flicker of hope.
“Thank you,” I said quietly, meeting his gaze once more.
Diarmid smiled, a rare, genuine expression that warmed the room. “We’ll figure this out together,” he promised.
And somehow, I believed him.