Gino could hear everything.
The creak of the floorboards beneath their feet. The soft hum of the wind pressing against the windows. But the worst part—
The part that made his stomach tighten and his hands shake—
Was the sound of their heartbeats.
Steady. Strong. Alive.
His throat burned.
The hunger was getting worse.
Every second that passed, it clawed at him—gnawed at the edges of his mind.
He pressed his fingers against his temples, inhaling sharply.
He had to fight it.
He had to.
Makayla’s voice was careful.
“Dad…?”
Gino didn’t move.
Didn’t trust himself to.
Mikhail shifted closer. Not too close—but enough. Enough to make sure Gino didn’t suddenly snap.
Like they were afraid.
And that was the worst part.
His own children were afraid of him.
His chest ached.
Or at lea
