(Alice)
I knew the instant something shifted.
Power doesn’t announce itself when it moves—it disappears. Access closes. Calls go unanswered. Doors don’t slam; they simply don’t open anymore.
By morning, I was locked out of three conversations I’d been certain belonged to me.
That never happened.
I stood by the window of my apartment, city sprawled beneath me, phone pressed to my ear as the line rang for the third time.
No answer.
Again.
I lowered the phone slowly, jaw tightening.
Luca Ferraro didn’t overreact. He didn’t explode. He didn’t threaten.
He rearranged the room while I was still talking.
That was dangerous.
The crown necklace should have provoked him. Or at least unsettled her. It was symbolic—carefully chosen. A reminder that visibility could be claimed, that power c
