Morgan blinked hard, certain his eyes were lying to him.
The man Lily had called Uncle Marco, whose blood had soaked the marble floor only seconds ago, was changing before his eyes. The torn flesh along his ribs was knitting itself together. The swelling in his arm lessened. Even the blood stopped flowing, as if time itself had taken pity on the man and turned back.
Morgan looked to Lily. Then back to Marco. Then again to Lily.
"What the hell…" he muttered under his breath.
Lily didn't answer. She was already on her feet. Her eyes swept the hallway ahead, scanning for movement, traps, or the next sign of resistance. She didn't need Morgan's questions. She didn't need his disbelief. She needed to focus.
She needed to make sure her father was safe.
