Night came soft, almost gentle, like it didn’t want to wake me. But I wasn’t sleeping. I hadn’t really slept since I saw that file. The walls hummed with things I couldn’t name. Every small sound felt alive — footsteps in the hall, a door clicking shut somewhere, the slow breathing of a house that kept too many secrets.
I sat on the floor, back against the bed, knees to my chest. The lamp was on, the only light in the room. I didn’t want the dark. I’d seen enough of it inside my head.
There was a voice outside my door. Two, actually. Matteo’s low tone, sharp edges. And his. Damiano’s. He never raised his voice, but there was something in it that carried through walls — a kind of tired power that made everything still.
“She’s not a problem,” Damiano said. “I’ll handle it.”
Matteo’s answ
