Clara returned silently.
The moment she crossed the threshold, she felt the heat coming off him not from his skin, but from whatever raged beneath it.
He didn't turn.
"You shouldn't be here," he said, voice low.
"You said that a lot," she replied, pulling off her gloves and setting them on the table. "And yet I'm always exactly where the damage is."
He turned then. Not abruptly. Like a wolf turning to track a sound in the dark. "Do you think that makes you strong?"
"No." She stepped closer. "I think it makes me honest."
He watched her. She felt it his gaze sharp, surgical. "What do you want, Clara?"
She matched his stare. "To know where we stand."
Lucas laughed quietly. "We stand on a cliff. You're the one bringing fire to the edge."
She walked past him, running a finger along the war map. "You invited him back. You knew what it would do."
"I wanted to see how far he'd go."
"And now you know."
Lucas said nothing.
