“Marcus… you’re alive.”

Dante said it like he didn’t quite believe it. Like the words might shatter whatever was standing in front of him.

Marcus looked different now. Thinner face, hunched shoulders, clothes hanging loose like he hadn’t eaten or slept right in months.

“Can I come in?” Marcus asked, voice rough and tired.

Dante stepped aside. “Of course.”

Marcus walked in slowly, eyes moving over the furniture, the soft lights, the scattered toys. Elena’s little shoes by the stairs. Leo’s backpack half-open on a chair.

He stopped. “You’ve built something here.”

Dante stayed quiet for a moment. “Yeah. We have.”

Marcus nodded, but his face stayed heavy.

“What happened...