"Daddy isn't home."
The words blur before my eyes. The knife sticking out of my teddy bear’s chest isn't just a threat; it’s a tombstone. My knees buckle. The floor seems to tilt dangerously, threatening to dump me into the abyss.
"Alina!"
Stavros catches me. His arms are iron bands, stopping my fall, holding me upright when my own bones have turned to water. He pulls me into his chest. He smells of smoke, sweat, and the metallic tang of dried blood. He smells like war.
"They took him," I choke out, burying my face in his torn tuxedo shirt. "They took everyone. The house... it’s dead."
"We aren't," he growls, his voice vibrating against my ear. "We are still standing."
I look up at him. His face is streaked with soot. The cut above his eye has reopened, a trickle of fresh crimson run
