Meet my Overprotective Brothers
He looked at Caleb not with hatred, but with a clinical, terrifying detachment.
“You have a strange scent, boy,” Alaric said, his voice a low rattle. “It’s Vane. The blood of the boundary-crossers. Tell me, do you cross boundaries because you have a destination, or because you’re running from yourself?”
Caleb didn't flinch. He had faced down Southern cannons and Void-Wraiths; he wasn't going to break under the gaze of a man who had spent fifteen years in a tank. “I’m here because she asked me to be.”