Nova had always believed that darkness came with a warning.
A shift in the wind. A crack in the silence. A scent like steel.
But this one came in a dress.
Red. Silk. High slit.
It arrived at their door without a sound, a letter sealed with the Volkov crest.
Delivered by no courier.
No signature.
Just words inked in perfect cursive:
"The sins of our fathers are not buried. They bloom.
Meet me in Vienna.
One last time.
Irena"
Tatiana burned the envelope.
"We ignore it," she said flatly, watching the seal melt in the fire.
Liam shook his head. "We can't. If she's reaching out, she's not desperate. She's baiting us."
Nova said nothing.
Not yet.
Not until she stared at the flames long enough to realize:
Irena wasn’t just calling her back.
She was finishing what she'd started.
