Makayla’s breathing was shallow.
The air in the chamber felt different.
Heavier.
Like something unseen had seeped into the walls, pressing against them, tightening around her ribs. Her mind was still racing from the vision—flashes of blood, battle, and a name that wasn’t Gino’s.
But the worst part?
The way he was looking at her.
Gino hadn’t moved. His body was rigid, his eyes dark, his lips slightly parted like he wanted to say something—like he wanted to deny what they all knew was true.
But he didn’t.
He just stared.
Because deep down, he knew.
He always had.
Makayla’s chest ached.
She wanted to speak, to demand the truth, but her voice was trapped beneath the weight of what had just happened. She turned to Mikhail—who still wasn’t himself. His grip on the blade was locked, h
