Chapter 2 - The Journal of the Dead
By 2:00 AM, the mansion was dead silent. Rain lashed against the high stained-glass windows.
Marcus sat in his private study, his hands shaking as he held a lockbox he hadn't opened since his wife, Eleanor’s, death. He punched in the code—Eleanor’s birthday—and pulled out her leather-bound diary.
He flipped frantically to Chapter 7.
The page was dated five years ago—one year before the crash. Eleanor’s elegant handwriting was messy, erratic, written in obvious panic:
“If anything happens to me, Marcus must never know the truth about Clara’s bloodline. The 'Neural-Sync' trial was not a failure. Dr. Julian succeeded. But the prototype biological catalyst was injected into Julian’s own son before they destroyed the lab. The boy's neural bio-electricity is the only thing that can bridge Clara's severed spine. He is the anchor. If they find him, they will dissect him. If Clara touches him, she can walk... but every time she walks, he takes on her pain.”
Marcus dropped the book. His blood ran ice-cold.
The crash four years ago wasn't an accident. It was an ambush to steal Dr. Julian’s research.
And that barefoot boy wasn't a beggar. He was Dr. Julian's missing son—the boy who had spent the last four years hiding in the streets, living like a phantom, carrying a biological curse that allowed him to heal others by absorbing their agony.
Suddenly, a quiet tap echoed against the balcony glass.
May you like
Marcus pulled a hidden revolver from his desk drawer, disengaged the safety, and approached the curtains. He threw them open.
Standing in the freezing rain, soaking wet and shivering violently, was Leo. But this time, Leo wasn't standing straight. His left leg was dragging behind him, twisted at an unnatural angle—the exact same deformity Clara suffered from.
