Lucas's POV The warehouse was cold and quiet, and every creak of the old wooden floor seemed louder than it should have been. I sat on an old crate, my hands resting on my knees, trying to keep my breathing steady. The air smelled damp and stale, like the place hadn’t been touched in years. Across the room, my father, Donald Dale, paced back and forth, his boots making sharp sounds against the concrete. His presence filled the space, commanding attention, just as it always had when I was a kid. I watched him carefully, my stomach twisting with a mix of emotions—anger, fear, confusion. I hadn’t seen him in years, not since he’d left under circumstances I still struggled to fully understand. But now he was back, and the things he’d been saying since I arrived at the warehouse made my blood run cold. “Do you understand why I’ve brought you here, Lucas?” my father asked, his voice steady and calm, but with an edge that sent a shiver down my spine. I hesitated before answering. “Y
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