Naples didn’t care about the end of the world. It was too busy shouting, frying pastries, and dodging chaotic scooter traffic.
As Giulia and Matteo walked out of the port gates, the sheer, uncompressed weight of human life slammed into them like a physical wave. The air didn't taste of the crisp, sterile ozone of the spire or the stagnant, copper salt of the substrate. It tasted of diesel exhaust, warm sfogliatella, and roasted espresso beans from the street carts. It was messy, loud, and brilliantly unoptimized.
"My head feels... light," Matteo said, his hand shielding his eyes from the glare of the noon sun reflecting off the cobblestones. He stopped near a stone fountain, watching a flock of pigeons fight over a discarded crust of bread. "For thirty-two years, there was a background h
