The darkness didn't end.
It thickened.
A weightless void pressed against Marcus's chest as he floated—no sky, no floor, no sense of gravity. Just the echo of Nova's voice, faint as a memory that refused to fade.
Then, with a sound like cracking bone, light tore across the void.
He slammed into something solid—a courtyard. Familiar. Lush. Fragrant with night jasmine.
The Obsidian Sanctum's garden.
Only… wrong.
Everything was too still. The moon overhead, too large. The wind didn't rustle the trees. It screamed.
Marcus stumbled to his feet. "Another illusion?" he growled.
He heard footsteps.
Soft. Measured. Known.
He turned and his breath hitched.
Samantha.
Her dark curls tumbled down her shoulders, her eyes soft with concern. She wore the silver shift she once wore the night Nova first called him "Daddy." His throat clenched.
"Samantha," he whispered.
She smiled. "You look tired."
