Dominic’s POV
It’s past midnight in the old Voss family cemetery, a place that smells of damp stone and old promises. The headstones lean like tired sentinels, watching as I commit another crime for the sake of a ghost.
The grave I came for sits apart from the others, marked by a simple granite plaque: Elia Beloved daughter, cherished friend. A lie carved in stone.
The same grave that, according to every official record, holds her remains. The same grave Stanley once ordered sealed and forgotten. The same grave he swore she wasn’t dead in.
The diggers work fast, mercenaries I’ve hired under fake names, paid in crypto and silence. The soil gives way easily, too easily for something meant to have rested undisturbed for over a decade.
When the spade strikes metal, I feel it in my bones.
