Her body told the rest.
Marks covered her skin—evidence of everything she had endured. Of everything she had survived.
But even survival has its limits.
Her shoulders sagged, weighed down by something heavier than exhaustion.
Defeat.
Not weakness.
Just the quiet exhaustion of someone who had been left alone for too long.
I didn’t speak.
I couldn’t trust my voice.
So I went to her.
Slowly, carefully.
And when she didn’t pull away... I lifted her into my arms.
She felt fragile. Too light.
That was what I remembered most.
Her eyes stayed with me.
Half-open. Unfocused. Broken.
Not the kind of damage doctors could fix with time and medicine.
This was deeper and permanent.
I had promised her something that night.
Not out loud. Not in words.
But in the way I held her.
In the way I didn’t let go.
Ottavio Orsini will pay.
And I meant it.
The sudden rise of wind swept past me, sharp and biting, dragging me out of the past.
It howled across the mountain, tugging at my clothes, cold against my skin—and just like that, I remembered where I was.
Not in the estate. Not in the blood and shadows of three months ago.
Here.
Now.
On this mountain.
