Rosalia
You ever have one of those moments where you’re like, “Okay, this is rock bottom,” and then the universe says, “Hold my beer”? That’s me, standing in a jungle temple with a journal everyone’s ready to shank me for, while a clawed hand from a glowing portal tries to grab me like I’m the last slice of pizza. Enzo’s just crashed the party, the silver wolf’s gone feral, and Isabella’s got a knife to her throat courtesy of Don Rizzo, the world’s worst elder. Angelo’s bleeding out, and I’m supposed to trust my maybe-sister to save us all. My life’s a dumpster fire, and I’m the one holding the matches.
The witch’s scream echoes as her talisman cracks, and the silver wolf, maybe Dad, tears into Enzo, claws flashing. Its eyes meet mine, full of pain and urgency, and my heart’s in my throa
