The last time Damien had seen Special Agent Marcus Keaton, the man had been standing outside the burning wreckage of his childhood home. His coat had been covered in ash, his expression unreadable as he told Damien the words that changed his life:

  “Your father is dead.”

  But now, Keaton stood before him, perfectly composed, like a ghost that never left.

  Damien kept his stance firm, his heartbeat steady, but inside, a storm raged.

  “You have some nerve showing up here,” he said, voice edged with cold steel.

  Keaton didn’t flinch. He simply adjusted his sunglasses, his unreadable expression unchanged.

  “We need to talk,” Keaton said. “Privately.”

  Ronan stepped forward, unimpressed. “Anything you have to say, you can say in front of me.”

  Keaton ignored him and kept his gaze locked on Damien.

  “This is about your father.”

  Damien felt his fingers twitch involuntarily.

  “I don’t have a father,” he said flatly.

  Keaton took a slow breath. “Then why did someone send you that letter?”

  Damien stiffened. His mind raced.

  How the hell did Keaton know about the letter?

  They sat in a secluded café down the street. The hum of morning commuters filled the air, but at their table, the tension was suffocating.

  Keaton placed a thin file on the table.

  Damien stared at it. The cover was marked "Elias Hawthorne – Unsolved."

  His father’s name. His father’s case.

  “This was never closed,” Keaton said, sliding the file toward him. “Because something about that fire never sat right.”

  Damien hesitated before flipping it open. Burn patterns. Coroner’s reports. Police statements.

  All of it felt like an echo of a nightmare he thought he’d escaped.

  “I saw his body,” Damien muttered. “You were there. We buried him.”

  Keaton leaned forward. “Did you?”

  The question hit Damien like a slap.

  His hands clenched the edges of the file, his pulse hammering against his skull.

  Ronan frowned. “What the hell are you saying?”

  Keaton took a deep breath, then spoke the words that sent a chill down Damien’s spine.

  “The DNA report from that body,” he said. “It wasn’t a match for Elias Hawthorne.”

  Silence.

  Thick. Heavy.

  Ronan swore under his breath. “You’re saying the body in that fire wasn’t—”

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “I’m saying the man you buried wasn’t your father.”

  Damien didn’t realize he was gripping the file so hard that his knuckles had turned white.

  He forced himself to breathe.

  The body wasn’t a match.

  Which meant…

  Elias Hawthorne never died.

  The truth slammed into him like a freight train.

  “Why wasn’t I told?” Damien asked, voice dangerously low.

  Keaton exhaled. “Because we didn’t know until years later. The case was buried. Someone up the chain didn’t want this coming out.”

  Damien felt the weight of the letter in his pocket. The words burned into his memory.

  Come home, Damien.

  His father—the monster who haunted his childhood—was still alive.

  A slow, suffocating rage burned in his chest.

  “Where is he?” Damien asked.

  Keaton hesitated. “That’s the thing. We don’t know. But someone does. And they want you to find him.”

  Damien clenched his jaw.

  If his father was alive, it meant one thing—

  This nightmare was far from over.

  The moment Damien and Ronan stepped outside, his phone buzzed.

  A message. Unknown number.

  Damien opened it.

  One image.

  A crime scene.

  And on the wall, written in blood—

  "COME HOME, DAMIEN."

  A second later, another text followed.

  Location: Hawthorne Estate.

  His childhood home.

  The house that burned.

  The house that should no longer exist.

  Ronan peered over his shoulder and muttered, “This is a trap.”

  Damien’s eyes never left the screen.

  Yeah. It was.

  But he was going anyway.

  Because if Elias Hawthorne was waiting for him…

  Damien was ready to finish what the fire started.

  Damien stared at the message on his phone, the crimson letters on the wall burned into his mind.

  "COME HOME, DAMIEN."

  Ronan was already on edge, shifting his weight as he scanned the street.

  “This is bad,” he muttered. “Someone wants you rattled.”

  Damien exhaled slowly. Too late for that.

  His mind raced through the possibilities.

  Was it his father? A copycat? Or someone who knew more than they should?

  The only way to find out was to follow the trail.

  He turned to Keaton, who was already back in his car.

  “You knew this was coming, didn’t you?” Damien asked, gripping the door before Keaton could shut it.

  Keaton hesitated. Then, with an exasperated sigh, he tossed another folder onto the passenger seat.

  “You think I like being kept in the dark?” Keaton said. “The moment I started digging into your father’s case again, someone started erasing records. This isn’t just about you, Damien. Someone doesn’t want the truth coming out.”

  Damien clenched his jaw. Then it was time to force it out.

  “I’m going to the estate,” he said, turning on his heel.

  Keaton grabbed his wrist. “Don’t be reckless, kid. If this is a trap—”

  Damien shot him a sharp glare.

  “It is a trap,” he said. “I’m just walking into it on my terms.”

  The drive to the Hawthorne Estate was suffocatingly silent.

  Ronan kept glancing at Damien, waiting for him to say something.

  But Damien was too lost in his own head.

  The house burned down. There was nothing left.

  At least, that’s what he had been told.

  But if the message was right, if someone had left a crime scene there… then something had changed.

  The road stretched ahead like a scar, leading him back to the one place he never wanted to return.

  As they approached the outskirts of the estate, Ronan finally spoke.

  “You ever think… maybe your father wanted you to find him?”

  Damien kept his eyes on the road. “If he did, he’ll regret it.”

  Ronan gave a humorless chuckle. “Yeah, I figured you'd say that.”

  The old iron gates of the Hawthorne Estate loomed in the distance.

  But something was wrong.

  The gates weren’t closed.

  They were wide open.

  And beyond them… stood the house.

  The moment Damien stepped out of the car, he felt it.

  A presence.

  Something watching.

  The house stood before them, its blackened remains still intact.

  Impossible.

  This place was destroyed years ago.

  And yet, here it was—like a corpse stitched back together.

  Ronan swore under his breath. “This isn’t right.”

  Damien’s pulse was steady, but his instincts were screaming.

  Then, a shadow moved in the upstairs window.

  Someone was inside.

  The front door was slightly ajar.

  Damien pushed it open, stepping inside the ruins of his childhood.

  The air was thick with the scent of smoke and something else.

  Copper.

  Blood.

  Ronan was behind him, gun drawn. “We shouldn’t be here.”

  Damien ignored him, eyes scanning the charred walls.

  Then he saw it.

  The message.

  Written in fresh blood across the old fireplace.

  “FIND ME BEFORE THEY DO.”

  Damien’s breath hitched.

  His father’s handwriting.

  But before he could react, a loud thump echoed from upstairs.

  Ronan raised his gun.

  Footsteps. Coming toward them.

  Damien tensed. Someone was here.

  Then, in the silence—

  A voice.

  Low. Raspy. Familiar.

  “Damien.”

  His blood ran cold.

  The voice belonged to Elias Hawthorne.

  His father.

  But his father was dead.

  Wasn’t he?