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A heart breaking past

Denera

He was quiet for a long time, and I began to wonder if he didn’t hear me or if he simply chose to ignore my words. Either way, I decided not to bring it up again.

I was willing to wait until he was ready to discuss it—after all, we were both grappling with our own demons.

Then, breaking the silence like a sudden thunderclap, he asked, “Do you know why our pack is called the Dark Lion?” His voice was steady, but there was an undertone of something deeper that piqued my curiosity.

I shook my head, my interest fully captured. “No, I don’t. Why?”

He leaned back against the couch, his eyes drifting to the ceiling as if he were searching for the right words in the cobwebs above. “For werewolves, we were known to be surrounded by a couple of lions in our territories,” he began, his tone thoughtful. “It wasn’t just a name; it was a legacy.”

I leaned in closer, eager to absorb every detail. “What do you mean?”

He took a breath, his brow furrowing slightly as he gathered his thoughts.
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