SERAPHINA’S POV
I used to believe distance was enough.
That if I crossed an ocean, changed my routine, softened my voice, and stopped looking over my shoulder so often, the past would lose interest in me. I told myself that Italy was clean air, that cobblestone streets and unfamiliar language could erase the shape of fear etched into my bones.
I was wrong.
I knew it the moment Alessio said he had a face.
He didn’t need to explain further. The air shifted between us, heavy with things neither of us wanted to say aloud. My chest felt tight, not panic exactly, more like inevitability. The kind that settles in when you realize something unfinished has followed you longer than you thought.
I spent the morning pretending to be normal.
I made coffee. Too strong. I barely tasted it. Aurora
