Mark stared at the small, pale boy before him, his mind whirling with the weight of what he was witnessing. The child—David's younger self—had been standing over the crude grave, desperately asking a question that tugged at something deep inside him. "Isn't she?"
Mark felt his throat tighten. He had seen Angelica, alive and breathing, just moments ago, holding him in her arms, her voice calling out to him in panic. He couldn't deny it. He had to answer. The small boy's eyes were filled with a mixture of fear and hope, as if the answer would change everything.
"Yes," Mark finally said, his voice quiet but firm. "Angelica is alive. I saw her with my own eyes."
