Elena’s POV

The words hung in the air long after I spoke them.

Damien was there too.

My father’s face changed in a way I had never seen before. The grief that had cracked him open minutes earlier hardened into something colder, sharper. He stared at me as if the hospital room itself had tilted.

“You’re certain?” His voice was low, almost careful. “Elena. Think carefully. Are you certain it was him?”

I swallowed. The memory was still raw, pulled up from the concrete room and from the fragments that had been returning in pieces ever since. A boy near the enclosure. Dark hair. Watching. Not running. Not screaming. Just...