The name "Venassa" clung to the air like smoke after a gunshot — faint, poisonous, impossible to ignore.
Marcus froze mid-step, the fainted child still in his arms, Elisa trembling in front of him, Sofia stiff with confusion and worry.
A hundred questions raced through Marcus's blood, but the fear — the cold, twisting, choking fear — was the loudest. It didn't just twist in his gut; it was a glacier sliding down his spine, settling in his lungs and restricting every breath. He knew that name, somewhere, from a file or a whisper long ago—a name banished from the family records. The sheer terror on Elisa's face confirmed its dark significance.
He didn't even realize he was breathing hard until he heard it echo in the hallway, a ragged, desperate sound that didn't belong to the stoic leader he projected.
"Who is Venassa?" he demanded quietly, but his voice carried a raw, controlled weight that made the luxurious room shrink around them, stripping away the comfort and pretense.
