Page 50 of The Mercenary's Hidden Heir

She wipes her face, straightens her spine.

"Aria," she says softly. "Joren."

Their names gut me more than any blade ever could.

She beckons them forward.

Slow.

Soft.

"It’s okay," she says. "Come meet someone."

They hesitate.

Aria narrows her eyes like she doesn’t trust a damn thing about me.

Smart girl.

Joren clutches his sister's hand tighter, but they shuffle forward together.

My chest’s a bomb ready to blow.

They stop a few feet away.

Close enough for me to see everything.

The Kaleidian markings faint along their necks.

The stubborn tilt of Aria’s chin.

The haunted, too-old-for-his-years look in Joren’s eyes.

My blood.

My kin.

I drop to one knee, ignoring the way my side screams in protest.

Try to make myself smaller.

Less dangerous.

They stare at me, silent, studying.

Sizing me up.

Smart.

Cautious.

Perfect.

"Hey there," I say rough. "Name’s Traz."

Joren edges a little closer, peering up at me.

"You got eyes like mine," he says solemnly.

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