Titus knew Caleb was thinking of his great-grandmother. He spoke gently, offering comfort. “Your great-grandmother lived longer than my master’s grandfather. She’s gone to reunite with your great-grandfather. As long as we live well and stay safe, she can truly rest in peace.”
“Great-grandmother was the best,” Caleb said softly. “There’s no way not to miss her. She must have seen great-grandfather again. My dad said they were extremely close. When great-grandfather passed away, great-grandmother nearly couldn’t pull herself together. Don’t be fooled by how strong she seemed—inside, she was fragile. She missed him terribly.”
“I understand,” Titus replied. “Losing someone you love takes time.”
Titus had been just one year old when his parents and family were massacred. He had no memory of them at all. Throughout his childhood, he didn’t even know what his biological parents looked like.
Only after he had accumulated enough power to return to Havenmill did he finally see photographs of his parents taken by others and learn their appearances.
He had inherited the best traits of both of them. If he weren’t hiding behind a mask and another identity, anyone who had known his parents would recognize him immediately as the Labbe family’s sole surviving direct descendant.
“Caleb,” Titus said, “let’s stop dwelling on sad things. We need to look forward—live well, live fully. Only then can the people who care about us truly rest easy.”
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