"You're supposed to be dead." Atlas's voice cut through the shocked silence.
Marius Finnegan stood halfway down the aisle, looking remarkably alive for a man five years buried.
His silver hair was longer, his face more weathered, but his piercing eyes remained unchanged, the same eyes that now studied Atlas with unmistakable recognition.
"Death is a relative concept," Marius replied, his voice carrying through the chapel. "Something I believe you've discovered yourself, son."
The word 'son' rippled through the stunned audience. Confusion spread as heads swiveled between James Reed and Marius Finnegan.
"Son?" Westfield stood abruptly. "What madness is this?"
Aaron's face had drained of all color. He gripped the altar for support, legs threatening to buckle beneath him. "Father? How—"
