The Tyrrhenian Sea was a sheet of hammered silver beneath a moon that refused to bleed. As the Eurocopter banked away from the Sicilian coastline, the air inside the cabin remained heavy with the scent of saltwater and the metallic tang of spent ammunition. Seraphina sat in the shadows of the rear bench, her hands finally resting on her knees, the tremors of the Jura Breach subsiding into a cold, focused clarity.
Across from her, Alessandro watched the silhouette of the cliffs. His face was a map of fresh scars and older, deeper shadows. The "Wolf" was no longer hunting; he was returning to a lair that had been rigged with explosives since his birth. He didn't look at the tactical maps glowing on the tablets. He looked at the girl who had just rewritten the laws of their shared history.
