"And how do you even know what you are?" Alaric challenged, his tone edged with exasperation.
Lucius grumbled. "I just know, Alaric. How many times do we have to go through this?"
Alaric's gaze softened slightly, though his frustration lingered. "Maybe we're the only ones," he muttered.
"That can't be true. We would find them, I even remember my house," Lucius said, his voice quiet but determined. "I took Jean there."
Alaric's brow furrowed in surprise. "Did she find anything to help your memory?"
Lucius hesitated. "Not much. But we found a book. It unlocked with a hair lock, water, candle—a bit of witchcraft drama."
Alaric's expression darkened. "Whose hair?"
"A Divine Lady's," Lucius admitted in a whisper.
"When was this?" Alaric demanded, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl.
Lucius sighed. "During the war. We needed answers, Alaric. You know that."