The footsteps stopped at the top of the stairs.Then a voice — thin, reedy, soaked in whiskey and regret — drifted down through the darkness. "Hello, son. I heard you've been looking for me."Alexander's hand tightened on mine. "I haven't been looking for you. I've been running.""You can't run from blood.""Watch me."The figure descended the stairs.He was smaller than I expected — hunched, gaunt, his skin the color of old parchment. His eyes were Alexander's eyes — that same piercing blue — but clouded, yellowed, dying. He leaned on a wooden cane with a silver wolf's head.Henry Black.The man who murdered two women.The father who destroyed his own son.He stopped at the bottom of the stairs and looked at each of us in turn."Martha." He nodded. "Still breathing, I see.""Unlike your conscience," Martha spat."Conscience is for people who plan to live forever." Henry turned to Marcus. "Vance. Still playing the hero? Still pretending you didn't abandon your own daughter?"Marcus di
ปรับปรุงล่าสุด : 2026-05-10 อ่านเพิ่มเติม