He looked at me, his gaze sharp and calculating, before shifting down to Bishop.

The gray pit bull did not growl.

Instead, Bishop merely thumped his tail once against the rug, keeping his eyes on the doorway.

Lucian stepped into the room and closed the heavy door behind him, cutting off the draft from the hallway.

“You should be resting,” he said, his voice deep and quiet.

“I was just looking around,” I said.

My hand trembled behind my back, the edge of the old photograph crinkling against my palm.

Lucian noticed the subtle movement of my shoulder immediately.

He took two slow steps toward me, his boots silent on the polished wood floor.

“What are you holding, Mara?”

I knew there was no point in trying to hide it from him.

I slowly brought my hand forward and held out the yellowed photograph.

“It fell out of the book,” I said.

Lucian stopped a few feet away from me.

His eyes fell on the paper in my hand, and his entire body went rigid.

The room grew incredibly quiet, save for the crackle of the wood in the fireplace.