Hadzen P.O.V The cool evening breeze caressed my face as I walked onto the balcony. My mother, Maxine, was standing there, her arms crossed, her body tense with impatience. Her eyes were on me, a constant reminder of the pressure that she placed upon my shoulders. It had become an obsession for her this search for my sister and I knew all too well the weight of her expectations. I walked with a premeditated elegance, every step a carefully balanced expression of restraint. I was my father's son eyes cut from glass, face chiseled from rock. Where my father's gaze was warm, mine was cold: a shield against the world, and more important, against my mother's relentless demands. "Where did you go?" Her voice cut through the air, sharp, pointedly accusatory. It was a familiar tone, one which had almost become a backdrop to my life. "Training," I said with an even voice, a hint of not caring slithering in, trying to sound emotionless. I knew
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