Gray watched as the question died on Zander’s tongue. His eyes pleading for his brother to understand. It was a danger for Aoife to be known about for both sides. All sides, really. And he knew that the clan would not like it. It was understandable, of course. The lack of trust for humans. It was only proven every time an event like what happened to their family. Still, Grayson had always been so intrigued. Infatuated with their lives and world. All the learning and the growth they achieved without any special abilities. And those who were gifted or touched? Well, they were just as fascinating. He wanted his brother to find some of the same intrigue. The man never knew if he achieved that goal, but he worked hard to break down that wall between their walls. It seemed like it was now rebuilt and fortified. Something he swallowed down bitterly. It was not Zander’s fault in the least. It was those who feared the unknown and hated it.
His gaze continued to map his brother’s expression for every detail. Even with the blurred left side, he could paint the man’s face by memory if only he had the skill for art. He did not hide the way his eyes stung and welled at the thought of him wandering. He had been spared the pain of thinking he was alone by the hope that his brother was out in the world somewhere. It was unfair, perhaps, that he knew Zander had survived with certainty. The man held his brother’s gaze as she spoke, unwilling to look away for a moment. Still trying to grasp for solid ground with the revelation standing before him. When he apologized, Grayson tilted his head and shook his head slowly. “What for,” he asked quietly. Giving up hope? Moving? Trying to live? They were hardly sins worth repenting for.
“If you need forgiveness, it’s yours.” Gray cleared his throat and his nostrils flared as he tried to steady his breathing. The man looked up, over his brother’s head and blinked away the tears that were threatening to fall. Composed—or as much as he could be given the moment—once more, he looked back to Zander and exhaled heavily. “I am with St. Patrick’s in New York City.” He gave a wry smirk at that and a soft huff. “For all the mocking people gave London, it seems like that place is heaven to the noise and unique scent of that place.” His blunt nail scraped at his finger pads for a moment as he thought. “Is there a community of our kind here that you know of?”