DIABLO
One week later.
Church bells ring as the walk to work begins. The sound feels strange and old, like something remembered from another life, buried deep and suddenly brought back to the surface.
At this hour, the streets are almost empty. A couple of bleary eyed tourists cradle cups of coffee as they linger outside a café, but they barely notice me passing. Aside from them, only pigeons share the road. They scatter into the air when I get too close, wings beating hard, then settle again on the cobbles behind me as if nothing happened.
Morning light spills across Rome in shades of orange and red. Warmth clings to the ancient stone and brick of the Pantheon as I pass by, cutting down the narrow side street that leads toward Goody’s. The city feels awake but unhurried, like it is w
