Of course he would, and Charles did wish he could give it to him—but a wand brought power, the power to make absolutely awful life choices, and until father and son reached some sort of accord, perhaps even a binding one, the healer could not risk relinquishing the one thing that kept Lupus’ wings clipped.

“You will,” he returned stiffly, tone giving no invitation to ask when or under what circumstances. “In time. I think, though, that we are getting ahead of ourselves.”

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