The rain over the Tiber had turned into a torrential downpour, a thick, liquid curtain that tasted of iron and ancient dust. Lila stood on the edge of the Ponte Sant'Angelo, her thumb hovering over the glass-encased button of the locket. The *smell of the Roman rain* was suffocating now, a heavy, wet blanket that seemed to drown out the city’s distant cries.
Beside her, *the sound of Ethan’s jagged breathing* was the only thing keeping her tethered to the stone. He was bleeding from a graze on his shoulder, the red staining his white shirt, but his eyes, one stormy gray, one dead charcoal, were fixed on her with a trust that was more terrifying than the snipers’ lasers.
"You're bluffing, Lila," Robert Laurent said, his voice barely audible over the roar of the river. "You’re an architec
