“Still bleeding for ghosts, Lucien?”

The voice slid through the smoke like oil. Low. Mocking. Familiar enough to split the air in Solene’s chest.

She froze. The barrel of her gun dipped an inch. For the first time in hours, her lungs forgot how to breathe.

Lucien reacted faster, weapon up, stance solid, a predator caught mid-strike. His jaw clenched as if he’d seen the specter in his worst nightmares crawl into the room.

From the haze stepped Rafael Vairo.

Alive. Whole. ...