Rain hammered the earth as though the sky itself sought to drown Lyndhurst in water and memory. The wind cut like cold knives, twisting bare branches until they clawed at the sky. The storm had returned—but it wasn’t the weather Demetri feared.
It was the past.
It was Liliana.
It was the possibility that the grave of Aleksandr Volkov—the man who had destroyed everything—might not hold the monster they believed.
“This is insane,” Vera whispered as they approached the wrought-iron gates of the ancestral cemetery. “That girl—she’s unwell. She’s playing with all of you.”
But Sasha shook her head. “She knows something. Something big.”
“Something dangerous,” Mila added softly.
Demetri said nothing.
His silence was a blade drawn, ready.
The lantern in Ivan’s hand flickered. Mist coiled b
