SERAFINA’S POV
I didn’t remember walking out of the house.
All I knew was that the air outside burned colder than before. The wind whipped through the trees like ghosts were screaming, and maybe they were—fragments of children, of names erased and rewritten, of files reduced to numbers.
Project Arlecchino wasn’t data.
It was me.
My fingers tightened around the flash drive until my knuckles turned white.
Behind me, footsteps crunched over dry leaves. Alonzo didn’t say anything—he just stood there, close enough for comfort but far enough not to smother me.
Smart man.
Alessia was already on the satellite phone with Enzo, her voice clipped and sharp. “We need access to the secure archives. Full lockdown. Patch everything through private servers—no leaks. If I even smell a mole, I’ll pe
