The garden was quiet again.
Too quiet.
Aria stood near the old fountain, its once-lively waters now nothing but a trickle, worn down by time or neglect—she didn’t know which. The vines curled around the stone like they were trying to suffocate it, and somehow, that felt like a metaphor for everything.
She wasn’t sure how long she’d been standing there. Minutes? Hours? The bruised sky above had gone from dusty lavender to an indigo so deep it looked like it could swallow her whole.
She wanted it to.
But then—
“Aria.”
His voice.
Always him.
Always the ghost she could never quite outrun.
She turned slowly, already knowing who she’d see before she saw him.
Luciano stood in the shadows of the colonnade, sleeves rolled, tie discarded, hair a little messier than usual. He looked too hu
