The night hadn’t ended — it merely bled into morning.

Dante hadn’t slept. His shirt was still stained with dust and gunpowder from the docks, and his hands carried the faint tremor that came after too much adrenaline and not enough control. The house was quiet, save for the soft hum of the security systems he’d doubled overnight. Every camera, every lock, every entrance — reinforced.

But it wasn’t enough.

Not when a ghost from the dead had just walked out of the past.

He stood in his study, the glow from the computer screen painting sharp shadows across his face. Old files were spread across the desk — grainy...