The silence in the preparation room was no longer just quiet. It was broken, shattered by the name Marc had spoken.
"Alistair."
Lucian stared at his brother, his face a mask of crumbling certainty. He shook his head, a slow, disbelieving motion. "No. That's impossible."
He took a step back, his hand raking through his hair. "Our parents died. In the gate raid on Elysia. That's what we were told. That's what the records show. They're gone." His voice, usually so controlled, was starting to fray at the edges. This was a foundational truth of his life, a pillar of his grief, and Marc was saying it had never been real.
"Lucy spent years looking for any trace of him," Lucian continued, his words coming faster, sharper. "Anything. There was nothing. Because there was nothing to find. He died with our mother."
