The phone dropped from Selene’s hand.
She didn’t move.
Didn’t breathe.
“Your mother.”
“Your father isn’t in that grave.”
The words echoed louder than any gunshot. More lethal.
A chill spread down her spine, not from fear—but memory. Repressed and rotting.
She forced her feet to move, snatched the phone off the floor, redialed the number.
Disconnected.
Of course.
Vincent’s voice came through the bedroom door. “We’re secure. No new alerts. Darius is stable. You want updates—”
“No,” she called back. “Just give me a minute.”
Silence. Then his footsteps retreated.
Selene sank onto the edge of her bed, head in her hands. Her pulse was a drumbeat against bone.
The grave.
She remembered the funeral. Her father’s coffin sealed shut. “Too damaged,” they’d said. The fire, the wreck, th
