REMEMBER.
The word carved into the central stone of the memorial garden that now stood where Dorian’s facility is buried. Two weeks had passed since the demolition, two weeks of intensive labor transforming cursed ground into sacred space.
Sera walked through the garden in the early morning light, admiring Luna’s vision brought to life. Native flowers bloomed between carefully placed stones, each one bearing a victim’s name, their birth year, and the year they’d been taken. Fifteen stones for those who’d died. Twenty-three more for those who’d survived but lost years of their lives to Dorian’s experiments.
At the center stood a larger monument, a sculpture of a wolf howling at the moon, crafted from silver-veined marble. At its base, an inscription read: They took our bonds but not our
