(Luca)
I always knew the cost of clarity.
What I didn’t expect was how quickly someone would try to exploit it.
The message arrived just after dawn.
A single line of text, unsigned, but unmistakably deliberate:
She thinks she can speak for herself. We’ll see how long that lasts.
I read it twice.
Vincenzo appeared immediately behind me. “From who?”
“Someone who still believes noise will matter,” I said.
“Do you want me to intervene?”
I shook my head. “No. This isn’t about me.”
Vincenzo frowned. “Then it’s about her.”
“Yes,” I replied. “And how she responds will define everything.”
By mid-morning, Aria was already in the library. She hadn’t read the note. She knew instinctively. That was dangerous—and necessary.
“You know someone’s challenging you,” I said, leaning against the
