The silence that followed Lucian's words was heavier than the strange atmosphere of the Veil. Lucy stood frozen, her outstretched hand trembling slightly. The glowing sigils on her skin seemed to pulse in time with her racing heart.
Alistair didn't look at Lucian. His eyes were only for Lucy, soft with a feigned pain that was masterfully crafted.
"Tools?" he said, his voice a low, wounded murmur. "Is that what you think, Lucy? After all I've shown you?" He took a slow step toward her, his presence both comforting and overwhelming. "Look at them. Look at your brothers. Do they look like tools to you? They look like targets."
His voice gained a sharper edge, laced with a fear that felt terrifyingly genuine. "The universe does not tolerate our kind, Lucy. The Diva, the Ashura, the countless other races… they hunted us to near extinction. They murdered your mother. They would have murdered you in your crib. They will not stop until every last one of us is ash."
