My fingers tighten around the phone 87

Ethan’s POV
A sliver of sunlight crept through the gap in the curtains, gently pulling me from the depths of sleep. I blinked, trying to
orient myself in the unfamiliar surroundings as my foggy mind gradually cleared. The events of yesterday slowly pieced
themselves together in my consciousness.
“Ethan?” a small voice called out. I turned my head to find Lucas standing by the bedside, his green eyes fixed on me with
serious intensity. I tried to shift but realized Aria was pressed firmly against my chest, her warm body molded perfectly to mine. I quickly confirmed that the blankets were covering us properly to avoid any awkward situations.
“Morning, Lucas,” I greeted softly, trying not to disturb Aria.
“Why are you in my mom’s bed?” Lucas asked directly, cutting straight to the point. Despite his obvious attempt to keep
his voice down, the wariness and protective edge in his tone both touched and amused me.
“Let’s talk in the kitchen, okay? Your mom needs to rest some more,” I suggested, studying his serious little face. “Can you wait for me there?”
Lucas’s scrutinizing gaze lingered on me for several seconds before he finally nodded in agreement and turned to leave. I
carefully extracted my arm from beneath Aria, who sighed softly in her sleep, the sound making my heart stutter. I
located my sweatpants from last night and pulled them on, then tiptoed out of the bedroom, gently closing the door
behind me.
When I reached the kitchen, I glanced at the clock and groaned internally when I saw it was barely 6 AM.
“How long have you been up?” I asked the little figure waiting for me.
“Not long,” Lucas answered proudly, his chin lifting slightly. “Mom and I usually go to the training center before the sun
comes up, so I’m used to waking up early.”
I smiled and ruffled his hair. “That makes sense. Are you hungry for breakfast?”
“Why were you in Mom’s bed?” Lucas persisted, crossing his arms over his small chest. For a six-year-old, his
interrogation stance was almost comical, but I knew he was deadly serious.
“Your mom is still sick,” I answered honestly, recognizing that he deserved a straightforward response. “Sometimes sick
people need someone to stay with them, especially when they have a high fever.”
Lucas thought about this for a moment before finally nodding his acceptance. “Can you make pancakes?”
I laughed, my tension dissolving, and began moving around the kitchen. I’d become familiar with Aria’s kitchen layout
last night while taking care of them—though the space was small, everything was organized and labeled.
“Want to help?” I offered.
Lucas’s face lit up instantly as he scrambled to drag over his step stool, nearly toppling it in his excitement. We spent
nearly an hour making a batch of chocolate chip pancakes—I’d never realized how a child’s “help” could transform such a
simple task into a grand culinary adventure. Lucas insisted on measuring, pouring, and mixing everything himself, his
little tongue poking out from the corner of his mouth in concentration as his small fingers gripped the measuring cups
with determined precision.
“I’m a chef!” he declared proudly, flour dusting his nose and cheeks like war paint. When Lucas suddenly sneezed from
excitement, sending a small cloud of flour puffing into the air like a miniature explosion, I couldn’t help but tease him.
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“All right, Mr. Piggy, let me finish up while you go clean yourself.”
Lucas giggled, his whole face crinkling with delight. To my surprise, he dropped to all fours, burrowing his nose against
my hand with surprisingly accurate pig snorts. He wiggled his tiny bottom in the air, adding a few more theatrical snorts
before bouncing off to the bathroom, his laughter pealing down the hallway like tiny bells filling the apartment with life.
When we finally sat down to eat, Lucas attacked his food with the single-minded devotion of a starving wolf cub. His
cheeks puffed out like an industrious chipmunk preparing for winter, storing an impossible amount of pancake in each
side. I couldn’t help but smile at the pure, uncomplicated joy radiating from this tiny human.
After demolishing three pancakes, Lucas finally slowed down, his expression suddenly turning serious. “Mom always gets
really sick because she doesn’t have a wolf.”
I carefully swallowed my last bite of pancake, a heaviness settling in my chest at Lucas’s innocent observation. “Some
people don’t have wolves,” I finally said, my voice gentler than I intended. “It’s not common, but it happens.”
“I heard Aunt Bella tell step-grandma that Mom’s wolf was taken away,” Lucas put down his fork, his small brow
furrowing. “She drank something, and then her wolf died.”
A chill ran up my spine, and I set down my own fork, giving Lucas my full attention. “Did they say what she drank?”
“No,” Lucas’s tiny fists clenched on the tabletop. “Just that Bella gave it to her, I think because she was going to save Aunt
Emma. They’re always mean to Mom, calling her names and playing tricks. Bella also made Grandpa kick Mom out before
I was born.”
My stomach twisted painfully, my heart clenched by an invisible fist. “Marcus Alpha sent your mom to the human world?”
Lucas nodded, angry tears welling in his eyes. “Because I don’t have a dad.”
My heart broke hearing those words. This child believed he was the reason his mother had been exiled, but the truth was
clearly more complicated. As intelligent as Lucas was, he was still a child who couldn’t fully comprehend the complexities
and cruelties of the adult world.
I reached out and pulled him into my arms. “Listen to me, Lucas. Your mom being sent away was never your fault. It had
nothing to do with you, understand? Many kids don’t know their fathers, but they’re still amazing people.”
“Thank you for telling me these things, buddy. You don’t know how important it is that you trust me.”
Lucas was quiet for a moment before asking in a voice so small I barely heard it, “Could you be my dad?”
The question hit me like lightning. My wolf—Felix—growled possessively inside me, seeming to declare “mine.” I opened
my mouth but found I couldn’t speak. I wanted to say yes, every fiber of my being wanted to say yes, but this wasn’t a
decision I could make alone.
“What are you still doing here?”
Aria’s voice startled us both. I turned to see her standing in the kitchen doorway, pale but alert. The conscious Aria didn’t
seem as gentle as the unconscious one had be