Lyra looked at Saoirse, her voice soft but filled with desperate sincerity.
"I… I know you're trying to help," she whispered, "but if it were you in my place… would you really be willing to survive that way?"
Her body trembled uncontrollably, but her eyes remained locked on Saoirse's, unwavering and resolute.
She wasn't just pleading. She was making a statement—one that came from the depths of her pride and will.
It wasn't even about whether Caden Voss's so-called treatment would work or not. Even if it guaranteed a cure, she would never agree to it.
The very idea made her sick.
Just what kind of man had the audacity to suggest something so shameless? And expect her to accept it?
Never.
"Actually…" Veil's voice broke the silence. He hesitated, lips pressed tightly together, as if waging a war with himself.
Saoirse turned sharply, her expression urgent. "Actually what? Just say it! Is there another way?"
