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The metallic scent of blood clung to the air. Elena knelt before Alessandro, her knees pressed against the cold concrete floor of the safe house. The dim light overhead flickered with a ghostly hum, casting fractured shadows across his bruised face. He sat shirtless in the battered leather chair, blood smeared across his chest, the remnants of the earlier attack still fresh on his skin. His breathing was shallow but steady—proof that he’d survived yet again. But barely. Her fingers trembled as she threaded the needle. “Stop shaking,” she whispered to herself, though the words carried nowhere. Alessandro sat in silence, his head tilted back against the wall, eyes half-lidded but watching her with that quiet intensity that always made her feel like he saw too much. She pierced the edge
- Writer
