The revelation didn't hit me with the force of an explosion; it felt more like the slow, agonizing crawl of frost over a windowpane. I didn't scream. I didn't even look back at the man—the thing—sitting in the rubble behind me.
I just stared at the yellowed document in Julian’s hand. A death certificate. Ethan Arthur Wolfe. Age: 7. Cause: Respiratory Failure.
"He was the first," Julian whispered, his voice cracking as he stepped over a twisted rebar.
"Grandmother couldn't accept a weak heir. She had the resources, the madness, and the time. She didn't just replace him, Grace. She perfected him. The man you married... he’s a masterpiece of bio-engineering and brainwashing. He’s the Wolfe legacy made flesh, without the 'defect' of a soul."
I looked over my shoulder. Ethan—the man who ha
