Below, the tunnel smelled like wet stone and old electricity. Aunt June flicked on a red flashlight and led us through a passage barely wide enough for two people. The hum faded behind us, but my pulse filled my ears.
“Tell me,” I said.
Mom did not answer.
“Tell me now.”
She stopped.
For the first time that night, she looked less like a captain and more like a woman carrying too much weight for too many years.
“Elias Voss was part of Ghostwing,” she said. “He was brilliant. Dangerous. Charming when he wanted to be. He believed the technology should not be destroyed. He believed whoever controlled invisibility controlled the next century.”
“And you married him?”
Her face tightened.
“No. I loved him before I understood what ambition could turn into.”
That answer hurt more than a simple yes.
“You said he died.”
“I believed he did.”
“But he’s my father?”
