Makayla could hear the blood pounding in her ears.
Her father was dying.
The figure—whatever it was—had taken something from him, something vital, something alive. His skin was deathly pale, his chest barely rising with each shallow, uneven breath. He looked fragile. Wrong.
And now, Celine was asking them to decide.
To turn him.
To make him one of them.
Makayla’s throat tightened.
If they did this, Gino would never be the same. He might not even wake up as Gino.
And if they didn’t—
She clenched her fists.
There wasn’t another option.
“Makayla.”
She turned.
Mikhail was watching her, golden eyes flickering with uncertainty. He was afraid too. Not just for Gino, but for what came next.
If they turned him, what if they lost him anyway?
What if Gino woke up as someone else?
Maka
