~Annalyn POV~"Seven," I said.Lucas was still crouched in front of me on the floor of the east wing, and the look on his face when I said that number made something cold move through my chest."The first time I heard it, I was seven. I thought it was just my imagination, like a girl's voice, older than mine, saying things I didn't understand." I looked at my hands. "It started coming more often when I turned twelve. After the fever, it got louder."Lucas stood up slowly. He didn't say anything right away, and with him silence wasn't a comfortable thing. It was the kind that meant he was deciding how much to tell me."Come with me," he said.His study was on the third floor, a room I'd never been invited into. It was nothing like Matteo's spaces, no dramatic décor, no atmosphere. Just a working room. Maps on one wall, a desk covered in papers, bookshelves organized with the kind of precision that came from actually using them. He went directly to the lowest shelf and pulled out a thic
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