The storm that swept through the city had passed, leaving the night thick with the scent of rain and smoke. But for Damian Moretti and Adriana Rossi, the storm was only beginning.
Their chains — one forged by blood, the other by doubt — were starting to snap.
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The candlelight flickered across the Moretti war table, casting shadows over maps and dossiers. Damian stood at its head, arm still bandaged from the ambush, his eyes hollow yet burning. His men surrounded him — Marco, Lorenzo, and a handful of trusted captains.
For days, Damian had raged blindly, searching, bleeding, breaking. But tonight something shifted. The wolf inside him no longer thrashed — it watched, it calculated.
“Enough,” Damian said, voice steady for the first time in weeks. “No more blind hunts. No more wasted
