The silence that followed was suffocating.
Mikhail’s breath came in short, ragged pulls as his body screamed at him to move—to do something. But he couldn’t. None of them could.
Because the man who stood before them was impossible.
Makayla was the first to react, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’re dead.”
The man—no, the ghost—tilted his head slightly, his piercing eyes locking onto hers. And in that moment, everything came rushing back.
The night they had buried him.
The night they had watched his body burn.
The night they had sworn to never speak his name again.
And yet—
Here he was.
Standing over their father with an unwavering grip around his throat.
Gino struggled beneath him, but the man’s hold didn’t budge. His expression was unreadable, his body still, like a preda
