Isabella
You don’t get to pick your family, but you’d think fate could’ve given me a sister who doesn’t attract every power-hungry lunatic in a hundred-mile radius. I’m diving for Rosalia, who’s crumpled on the stone hall’s floor, her glow snuffed out by the woman’s reformed talisman, her body limp after tackling Andre for the journal. Luca’s back, his knife aimed at Angelo, who’s bleeding out against a pillar, his eyes fierce despite being one breath from death.
Andre’s still clutching the journal, its runes pulsing with stolen bloodline power, and Camila’s glow is a beacon, her betrayal cutting deeper than any blade. Moretti’s wolves are scattered, his talisman flickering, and the woman’s new portal yawns, a dark void threatening to swallow us. I came to protect Rosalia, but my secret
