Dylan's dark abyssal eyes deepened further, the shadows within them thickening into something almost tangible.
His fingers curled into tight fists, knuckles almost paling —as if he already knew what he was placing on the scale.
His own life.
"I know what I am doing," he said, rising to his full height. His voice was calm, but there was a cold finality beneath it. "My condition cannot worsen more than it already has."
Asher's expression tightened. The concern he had been holding back finally surfaced, heavy and unrestrained.
His brows drew together, and the words slipped out before he could stop himself.
"But it can improve," he said quietly. "All we need is the essence of her blood. We only have to find her and —"
The air turned sharp.
Dylan's gaze snapped toward him —cold, cutting, absolute.
The unfinished sentence died in Asher's throat. He immediately lowered his head, shoulders stiffening, not daring to let another word escape.
