We stare at one another for a long moment, Tristian determined to hold his ground, me trying to reconcile sharing her. I know he’s right. The bitch of it is that it’s not even about the contract, or tradition, or the structure of the Lords. It’s not even about how far we go back, how entwined we’ve always been. Tristian’s the one who finally cornered her in the laundry room that night, setting this ball into motion. Rath manipulated her into feeling somewhat comfortable in the house. All three of us helped create this. Take even one of us away, and the whole thing would crumble. She’s our
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