And then Wendy tilted her own head, slightly, and drew back the collar of her expensive coat, and there, on the left side of her own neck, was the same mark.

The same crescent.

Mirrored perfectly across two generations.

My stomach dropped into a cold, bottomless abyss.

“Luca,” I whispered, tears blurring my vision, my arms tightening around my child.

“What is she talking about?

What does she mean, a Vance child?

What is happening?” And my husband turned to me, and the terror in his face was absolute, and I understood that whatever he had been about to tell me before his mother walked in, it was worse, and larger, and more dangerous than anything I had imagined.