Makayla had never felt so cold.
The air in the room was thick, heavy with something unspoken, something unseen. Gino’s golden eyes—pupils thin, sharp—stared at his own trembling hands. His breath came out in ragged, uneven bursts, too sharp, too quick.
He wasn’t human anymore.
Makayla knew it.
Mikhail knew it.
But did Gino?
Makayla swallowed hard, forcing herself to speak. “Dad…”
Gino didn’t look at her.
His fingers curled against his palm, nails pressing hard against his skin. He flexed his hand, testing his strength. His movements were too controlled, too precise. He blinked once, his pupils flickering slightly in the dim light.
Then—
“…What did you do to me?”
His voice was quiet.
Too quiet.
Like he already knew the answer, but needed to hear it anyway.
Makayla hesitated.
