Dexter watched as the blood pooled in his palm.
It dripped onto the stone floor of the courtyard—but nothing changed.
Stacy didn't react.
Cain kept drinking from his flask.
The hunters around them kept training, their movements seamless, too perfect.
The world continued.
As if his actions didn't matter.
Dexter exhaled slowly.
There it is.
This wasn't reality.
It wasn't even a memory.
It was a constructed past.
A world that functioned only as long as he played along.
Which meant—
If he stopped playing…
What would happen then?
Dexter clenched his fist, smearing the blood across his palm.
Then, slowly, he turned back to Stacy.
"Hey." His voice was calm. Testing. "What if I told you Elena becomes a hunter after all?"
Stacy scoffed. "Not a chance."
Dexter narrowed his eyes.
That was too fast. Too certain.