Makayla’s breath came fast, shallow.
Her chest rose and fell in panicked, uneven movements, but the rest of her—every limb, every muscle—was frozen.
Gino was too close.
Too calm.
And Mikhail—
He was right there, standing beside him like an obedient shadow.
Empty.
Hollow.
Not even himself anymore.
Makayla’s stomach twisted violently.
This wasn’t happening.
This couldn’t be happening.
But it was.
It was.
Her mind screamed at her to move, to fight, to do something, but her body—
It wouldn’t listen.
Not because she was weak.
Not because she was giving up.
But because something about this—
Something about seeing Mikhail like this, seeing what their father had done—
It broke something inside her.
It was the kind of horror that didn’t just exist in nightmares.
It was the kin
