DARRAGH'S POV

The words hung on my tongue for a moment too long. Ciara sat across from me, fingers drumming against her knee, eyes fixed on the hotel window where the morning sun streaked the glass. That hollow look in her gaze—like she was bracing for another blow—made the decision for me.

"Saraphina's mother," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "Riona Maychild."

Ciara went perfectly still. Only her chest moved with a sharp intake of breath that escaped as a slow hiss between her ...