Benson's POV
The shadows around me were thick, curling like smoke, pressing in on every side. It was as if the room was suffused with some bitter energy, one that seemed to seep into my skin and settle, cold and heavy, in my chest. The sterile scent of antiseptic lingered in the air, clinging to every breath I took, even as my limbs felt foreign and sluggish, like they didn’t fully belong to me.
My eyes fluttered open, struggling to focus, and there he was. My father.
Axel McKee, standing rigid in the corner of the room. His silhouette was sharp, imposing, like a statue chiseled from granite. His suit—a dark, sleek gray—seemed to absorb the light, casting him in a shadow that felt like it belonged to something much darker, much more sinister than just a man.
Axel didn’t look at me at f
