Pain flared white-hot, radiating up my legs, stealing my breath.
Fresh blood welled and spilled, warm against the cold surface beneath me.
The black stone beneath my knees was already slick with red—my red—running in thin, fragile rivulets that drifted toward Renzo’s boots.
I couldn’t hold it anymore.
My chest tightened as tears spilled over, silent and unstoppable.
My whole body trembled—not just from the cold wind cutting across the ridge, but from the relentless, grinding pain in my knees.
Every second felt longer than the last, each breath a battle.
Ten minutes.
Maybe less.
And I was already breaking.
“Renzo... please... help me stand. This is... too much.
The words slipped out before I could stop them—small, fragile, almost childlike.
I hated how weak they sounded, but I couldn’t hold them in.
I lifted my head, looking up at him through blurred vision and wet lashes.
“I... I can’t bear it any longer
Renzo’s expression shifted immediately.
His jaw tightened.
I saw it then—the conflict.
The restraint. The anger he wasn’t allowed to show.
He bit the inside of his cheek, hard enough that the muscle in his jaw jumped, as if he was holding himself together by force.
For a moment, it looked like he might step forward.
Might help.
Might do something.
Then a voice cut through the wind.
“Leave, Renzo.”
Vincenzo.
The name alone felt heavier than the chains.
He stood at the base of the ridge, his presence commanding even from a distance.
A white cashmere coat draped over his shoulders, untouched by the dampness around him, paired with white trousers that somehow remained immaculate despite the wet grass.
His hair was slightly damp, curling faintly at the temples, as though he’d walked through the mist to get here.
