THE GHOST BETWEEN US.

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Volume 3, Chapter 84 – The Ghosts Between Us

It was easy to forget, in the quiet moments.

Easy to pretend that the world outside didn't exist. That there wasn't a storm waiting beyond these walls, filled with ghosts neither of them had fully outrun.

Vincent had let himself get comfortable. Too comfortable.

And he should've known better.

The knock at the door shattered the fragile peace.

Zane tensed beneath him, his fingers still tangled in Vincent's hair. For a second, neither of them moved.

Then—another knock. Louder this time. More insistent.

Vincent's stomach twisted.

Zane's voice was quiet, but firm. "You expecting someone?"

Vincent sat up, already feeling the cold creeping back in. "No."

They both knew what that meant.

Vincent was off the bed in an instant, reaching for the nearest blade tucked beneath the mattress. Zane was slower, but only because he took the time to grab a gun from the drawer, checking the clip with an ease that shouldn't have been so damn casual.

Another knock.

Then—a voice.

Low. Rough. Familiar in a way that sent ice through Vincent's veins.

"You in there, Vincent?"

Vincent froze.

Zane's gaze snapped to him. He knew that look. Knew what it meant.

Zane didn't ask who it was. Didn't demand answers.

But Vincent could see the shift—the careful way Zane positioned himself, the weight in his stare as he took in Vincent's reaction.

"Do you want me to open it," Zane asked, voice deadly calm, "or do you want me to kill them?"

Vincent let out a slow, shaking breath. Because this? This was the moment.

The moment where the past stopped knocking and kicked down the door.

Another knock. A pause. Then a sigh, followed by a single, chilling sentence.

"I know you're in there, V."

Vincent's grip on the knife tightened.

That voice—it didn't belong here. Not in this room, not in this life.

Zane stepped closer, his free hand brushing against Vincent's, grounding him. "Talk to me," he murmured.

Vincent's throat was dry. Too many emotions. Too many memories. But he forced the words out anyway.

"It's Dominic."

Zane's expression didn't change, but Vincent felt the shift in the air.

Dominic. The one person Vincent never wanted to see again. The one who knew too much. The one who had left him behind and never looked back.

Except, apparently, he had.

Because he was here.

Now.

Knocking on Vincent's door like he had any right to.

Vincent didn't move. Couldn't. But Zane? Zane was already stepping forward, gun in hand.

"Zane," Vincent started, but the other man shot him a look.

Sharp. Unyielding.

Protective.

"You're shaking," Zane said simply. "And I don't like it."

Vincent exhaled sharply. Of course Zane noticed. He always did.

Another knock. Then—a shift. A sound near the window.

Zane was already moving, pressing Vincent back toward the wall, gun raised. "He's trying the window."

Vincent cursed under his breath. Of course Dominic wouldn't just wait.

The question was—why?

Why now?

Why after all this time?

And why did the sound of his voice still make Vincent feel like he was seventeen again, bleeding and running for his life?

He swallowed hard. "I need to face him."

Zane's jaw tightened. "Not alone."

Vincent looked at him then, really looked at him. At the way Zane's fingers were tense around the trigger, at the way his shoulders squared, at the way his gaze never wavered.

He wasn't just saying that. He meant it.

Vincent nodded.

And together—they turned to face the past.

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