Michael's pulse pounded in his ears, his entire world narrowing down to the man—no, the thing standing in front of him.
Lumian.
Naked, unbothered, alive.
It wasn't possible.
It couldn't be possible.
Michael had killed him. He remembered it now the fight, the blood, the moment he had watched the life drain from Lumian's eyes. It had been real. It had been final.
And yet, Lumian was standing there, arms spread like a mockery of resurrection, daring Michael to deny what was right in front of him.
"You're not real," Michael whispered. His voice shook, a rare tremor of uncertainty.
Lumian's lips curled. "Oh, I'm very real."
Michael's fingers twitched. Lightning sparked, but it wasn't steady. His control wavered, the power inside him reflecting the chaos in his mind.
"This is some kind of trick," Michael growled, forcing steel into his voice. He needed this to be a trick. Needed there to be some rational, explainable reason for this.
"You wish," Lumian said.
And then—
