Makayla’s breath hitched as she stared into her father’s eyes—those same eyes that had once been filled with warmth and love, now swallowed by the creeping darkness. But for that fleeting moment, she saw it. Him. Her real father. The man who had held her when she was a child, who had kissed her forehead and told her stories, who had promised to always be there.
And then, as quickly as it came, it vanished.
The blackness flooded back into his irises, and the familiar warmth in his expression was wiped away like it had never been there at all.
Her stomach twisted.
“No,” she whispered, taking a shaky step forward. “I saw you.”
Gino’s lips parted, but no words came.
His body was tensed, caught between the force pulling him under and the piece of himself still clinging on.
Mikhail, stand
