The rain didn’t stop that night. It came in slow, heavy sheets that beat against the windows like the sky was trying to drown the city. Every drop sounded like memory. Every flash of lightning threw shadows across the walls that looked too much like faces I once knew.Grace was asleep in the next room. Her breathing was steady and soft, almost like a rhythm meant to remind me that life goes on, even when everything else falls apart. I sat by the window, the pendant resting in my palm, its faint glow pulsing through the darkness. I didn’t need light to see it anymore. It had already burned itself into me.I kept thinking about what my father said. “The rest you’ll find when you forgive yourself.” Forgiveness. It sounded simple, but it felt like walking barefoot over broken glass. Every step cut deeper.Outside, the wind carried something strange. It wasn’t just the sound of rain. It was a hum, low and rhythmic, like the city itself was whispering under its breath. I leaned forward, squint

The rain came again that night. Soft, almost careful, like it was afraid to wake the dead.I couldn’t sleep. The sound of it on the windows reminded me too much of her. Of the way Valeria used to hum quietly when storms rolled over the city, like the thunder spoke a language only she could understand. Now, every drop felt like a word I could no longer translate.The apartment was half-dark, the lights flickering from the old generator outside. Grace had gone to sleep in the next room, Mira somewhere downstairs, but I stayed in the study, sitting where my father once did, the chair creaking every time I leaned back.Her photograph was still on the shelf. Burnt edges, faded colors. I told myself I kept it there because I didn’t know where else to put it, but that was a lie.You don’t throw away the only piece of someone that reminds you they were real.The fire in the hearth had died down to embers. I rubbed my hands together and leaned forward, elbows on my knees, staring into the faint glo

The rain hadn’t stopped since sunset. It fell in thin, silver lines against the cracked windows, soft but relentless, like the world itself was trying to wash away everything that had been done in this house. The smell of damp wood filled the room, blending with the faint copper scent of blood that still lingered on the traveler’s clothes.I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at him. He looked barely alive. His face was gray, his hands trembling as though even breathing was too heavy a task. I had seen men like this before—men who had run too far from something they could never truly escape.He shouldn’t have been here. No one should have been. The gates of the estate had been locked for months. Yet he had stumbled in, clutching a piece of glass that pulsed faintly in his hand, whispering my father’s name before collapsing at my feet.“Who sent you?” I asked, though my voice came out quieter than I meant it to. “How do you know my father?”The man tried to speak, his lips moving soundles

The night air carried the scent of rain and smoke, like the world itself was trying to wash away what it could not forget. I stood in front of my father’s old study, hand hovering over the doorknob. The room had been locked since the night of the banquet. Since everything burned.No one went near it anymore. Not Grace. Not Mira. Not even me—until now.The metal of the knob was cold against my palm. For a moment, I hesitated, half-expecting to hear my father’s voice again, that deep commanding tone telling me to leave things I didn’t understand alone. But silence answered. Only the soft hum of the storm pressing against the windows filled the hallway.When I finally turned the handle, the door gave a quiet creak. The smell hit me first—old tobacco, aged whiskey, and something faintly metallic. Dust had gathered over everything like a shroud. His desk still sat where it always had, papers scattered like a storm had passed through, the leather chair slightly turned toward the window.It felt

The night had teeth. The streets of Rome were slick with rain, and the neon reflections seemed to pulse with a life of their own. Shadows twisted and turned in the alleys, dancing to a rhythm I alone could sense. I could feel the curse thrumming beneath my skin, alive, alert, and hungry. Every footstep, every heartbeat, carried me closer to the one who held the other half of her soul.The vial burned lightly in my hand. Its glow was a reminder, a tether, and a compass all at once. Valeria’s essence whispered to me from within, faint but persistent. I could almost hear her voice, urging me forward, steadying me against the pull of the shadows that followed.The stranger had moved quickly, leaving a trail of quiet chaos. I could sense it, smell it, and even taste it on the wet night air. His presence was like a shadow within shadows, echoing my own but colder. Calculated. Ruthless. Whoever he was, he knew the curse, knew how to move without being seen, and, most dangerously, knew the stak