The old corridors of the estate echoed with the sound of my footsteps. I had walked these halls all my life, but tonight, they felt different. Every portrait seemed to watch me. Every shadow seemed to whisper my name. The candle in my hand trembled slightly, its flame struggling against the cold draft creeping through the broken windowpanes.I stopped outside my father’s old study. The door was slightly ajar, and dust hung in the air like memory itself. It had been sealed for years after his death. No one was allowed in—not me, not even the servants. But Rian’s words still echoed in my mind.“He was hiding something, Luca. Something even you weren’t meant to see.”My chest felt tight. The handle was cold beneath my fingers as I pushed the door open. The faint smell of parchment and old whiskey hit me first, followed by the faint crackle of firewood that must have burned out long ago. The room was untouched, frozen in time. Papers scattered across the desk, half-written letters, and a cra

For a long moment, the world was nothing but light and noise. The mirror’s shattering rang through the room like a thousand bells breaking in the same breath. Then, suddenly, silence returned—thick, suffocating, and absolute.Luca stood frozen, every muscle tense, his hand still shielding his eyes from the crimson glow that had filled the study. When he finally dared to lower it, the light was gone.But he was not alone.Something stood before him, half-formed and shifting. It looked like a man at first—tall, broad-shouldered—but its shape flickered, as if it couldn’t decide what to be. Shadows rippled across its form, swallowing what little light the fire gave off.Luca’s throat went dry. “Who are you?”The figure tilted its head. For a heartbeat, its features sharpened—and Luca saw his own face staring back at him. Not the reflection from before, but something worse. Its eyes glowed faintly red, as though lit from inside, and when it smiled, it wasn’t human.“You already know,” it said qu

The forest behind the Romano estate had always felt like another world. It was a place his father forbade him to go as a child, saying it belonged to the dead and the forgotten. Now, as the night wind whispered through the trees, Luca understood why.The air was cold enough to bite, thick with the scent of pine and something older. The moon hid behind bruised clouds, and the shadows beneath the trees seemed to breathe. He moved silently through the dark, boots crunching over damp leaves, the weight of the revolver heavy in his coat pocket.He wasn’t hunting an animal tonight. He wasn’t even sure what he was hunting anymore.His father’s words still echoed in his head: Do not let it own you.But he could feel it. The pull. The presence that had followed him since he read those letters. It wasn’t outside of him—it was within. The deeper he went into the woods, the louder it became, like whispers brushing the edges of his thoughts.He stopped beside a fallen tree and drew in a slow breath. Th

The city was still asleep when Luca left the mansion. The morning light had barely begun to break through the horizon, and even then, it seemed hesitant—as if Rome itself feared to wake. The air was thick with fog, curling between the narrow streets like smoke.He walked with his hands in his coat pockets, his mind racing, every sound amplified by the silence. His father’s voice still echoed in his head. Find me where the sun does not rise.The phrase replayed over and over. It didn’t sound like a metaphor anymore. It felt like a direction. A call.He had searched every record he could find in his father’s study before leaving. A ledger hidden inside one of the old drawers had contained a single note written in Vittorio’s handwriting. It was a location. An address, more like coordinates, scribbled beside three Latin words. Ubi sol non oritur.Now those words were leading him toward the southern edge of the city—toward the old catacombs.The deeper he went, the emptier the streets became. T

The woods was still.Even the wind refused to move. The faint smell of iron and smoke hung low, clinging to the damp air. Somewhere above, the moon cut through the clouds like a blade, throwing silver over the forest floor.Luca moved in silence, boots sinking into the earth. His breath was steady and controlled. The hunt had begun hours ago, yet not a single sound of prey reached his ears.It wasn’t an ordinary hunt. Not anymore.He wasn’t chasing an animal. He was chasing what was left of himself.Every step carried an echo—footsteps he couldn’t name, whispers that followed him like the wind’s reflection. His father used to bring him to these woods as a boy, teaching him how to read silence, how to listen to what the earth didn’t say. But that memory had long rotted into something darker.Now, the same forest that once meant peace felt alive in another way. Watching. Breathing. Waiting.He stopped beside a fallen log and crouched low, pressing his palm to the soil. It pulsed faintly beneat