Gino sat still for a long time.
Too long.
The weight of his body felt unnatural—his own strength foreign, something unfamiliar lurking beneath his skin. He could still hear it. The heartbeats. The faint rush of blood moving through veins that weren’t his own.
The hunger hadn’t faded.
It was there, sitting in the back of his mind like a whisper, like something waiting—watching—just out of reach.
But he could control it.
He had to.
Celine watched him closely, her golden eyes unreadable. She hadn’t moved since he had stopped fighting. Since he had stopped himself. But there was something in her gaze—something cautious.
Like she wasn’t sure if she had saved him.
Or created something worse.
Makayla and Mikhail hadn’t spoken, but their silence said enough.
They were afraid.
Not of th
