The air had turned colder since Lorenzo's return, as if the forest itself recoiled from the dark presence that had awakened. The trees whispered in foreign tongues, the ground crackled underfoot, and even the moonlight seemed to hesitate before touching the earth.
Selena couldn't sleep that night.
She sat near the remains of the cathedral's broken altar, tracing her fingers over the crimson-stained stone where Dante had once knelt, his body carved with pain and prophecy. She could still feel the phantom heat of his skin, still hear his oath echoing in the corners of her mind: "To burn—but never alone."
It wasn't just the fear of Lorenzo that kept her awake. It was the fear of what Dante might become. Of what she might have to become to stop it.
"You're thinking too loudly," Dante said quietly from behind her.
Selena turned, startled. "I didn't hear you come in."
