"Pale man?" The individual I addressed right now was perplexed as to why I called him by a name that perhaps no one had ever called him.

I simply bit the lower of my lip since even I never imagined being able to refer to him by such moniker.

To get away, I diverted the conversation. I focused on Morgan, who was pulling the hem of Veron's shirt. There was no disputing that he had a lost child's stance— bruised knees, stained white clothing, and a wet face from crying.

The heavy iron that had been coursing through my chest vanished when I turned to look at his face once...