Wednesday, April 25th, 4:09 p.m. CET — Via Madonnina 16, Brera, Zone 1, Milan, Italy
The cobblestones trembled beneath Loconda's feet, their eerie resonance building to a crescendo. She cradled Renata tightly, her breath quick and shallow as the old man advanced, his cruel grin like a knife in the dim light. His lackeys were nothing more than flattened shapes, grotesque reminders of their failed aggression.
Then, the air shifted. A deep, resonant hum emerged, vibrating through the street like a pulse of unseen power.
At the far end of the alley, a figure emerged from the shadows, her presence sparking like tinder kissed by a match, unmistakably Italian, with striking Mediterranean features and a beauty both refined and formidable. Her dark hair was pulled back in a sleek twist, revealing high cheekbones, olive-toned skin, and eyes like molten espresso—sharp, alert, and unblinking.
The lady wore a long, deep emerald green overcoat that flared with her every step, the fabric rich and flowing like silk but cut for purpose. Beneath it, a matte-black ensemble clung to her form.
"Enough," the woman said, her voice a rich, vibrating tone that seemed to reverberate inside Loconda's chest. Her sharp eyes locked onto the old man. "Please step away from la ragazza, signore."
The old man paused, his amusement flickering. "Another meddling risonante," he sneered. "You should know your witchcraft won't work on me."
The woman raised a hand, and the street quivered beneath his feet. The air around him shimmered, distorting as vibrations bent the space itself. The cobblestones cracked, their surfaces rippling like water. Loconda clutched Renata tighter, frozen in awe and terror.
But the old man's smugness didn't falter. His clothing began to shimmer faintly, the intricate patterns absorbing the vibrations aimed at him. "This suit was designed to defy your silly tricks," he said, advancing a step. "You'll have to do better."
The woman's expression tightened. "I intend to."
He raised his gun and fired. Loconda screamed, but the bullet never reached its mark. The woman blurred, her form vibrating at impossible speeds. The projectile passed harmlessly through her, embedding itself in a distant wall.
Her smirk was razor-sharp.
Gunfire tore through the alley again, each shot phasing through her like smoke, then pinging off the stone behind her as she pressed forward.
Then, with a snap of the woman's fingers, the air around Loconda surged. A force launched her skyward, Renata yowling in her arms. The world tilted, a dizzying blur of rooftops and broken streets. Loconda locked eyes with the woman just as she leapt into the air, her foot planting impossibly on nothing as she vaulted toward a rooftop opposite Acadia's apartment.
The ground below detonated with a deafening roar. The cobblestones gave way, swallowing the old man in a cascade of stone and dust. Loconda, still airborne, felt her stomach lurch as her trajectory shifted. She clutched Renata tighter, bracing for the fall—but instead, she landed in massive, steady arms.
A towering man, broad as a wall, cradled Loconda and Renata as he sprinted across the rooftops with impossible speed. "I'm with the Academy d'Arte Avanzata," he said in a gravelly tone, his words barely audible over the rush of air. "We're not safe here—"
Before he could explain further, a crack echoed from the distance. A bullet zipped past, knocking the cap off a nearby chimney. The academy man cursed, ducking as another shot rang out. On a distant tiled ridge, farther along the rooftops, a sniper clad in black calmly loaded another round into his rifle and took aim.
The next shot found its mark. The large man stumbled as the bullet hit him, sending Loconda and Renata tumbling off the roof. She screamed, bracing for the impact—but it never came. A soft, invisible force enveloped her, cushioning her descent. She landed gently on the cracked street, her eyes darting in search of the source.
At the far end of the street, the woman in the emerald coat stood with her arms outstretched, her face set with fierce determination. Loconda barely had time to process what was happening before a car came careening down the opposite lane. In the passenger seat, a suited man leaned out of the window, his assault rifle aimed directly at her.
Loconda froze, helpless as the gunman prepared to fire. But before he could, the woman swept her arm forward. The car crumpled like paper, collapsing in on itself with a metallic scream as the vibrations tore through it. The gunman was thrown clear, his weapon clattering uselessly to the ground.
Suddenly, the large man from the rooftop emerged from the wall beside her, his form shimmering like a ghost. Without hesitation, he scooped her and Renata into his arms. "Hold on, bambina." he growled, his body trembling with energy.
Before she could question him, his form began to vibrate violently. The world around them blurred, colors and shapes merging into an unrecognizable haze. Then, like phantoms, they slipped through the brick wall, disappearing into the unknown.
1.62 miles Northwest, 4:21 p.m. CET — Corso Sempione, Arco della Pace, Sempione Neighborhood
A luxury sedan glided down the road, its glossy black exterior gleaming under the orange hues of the setting sun, with the Arco della Pace towering in the distance. Inside, an overweight man in an expensive, ill-fitting suit sat sprawled in the plush backseat, a cigar smoldering in one hand and a phone pressed to his ear.
"Where is she?!" he bellowed, his voice a gruff blend of Italian and English. Spittle flecked his double chin as he barked into the phone, veins straining against his pale skin.
1.62 miles Southeast, 4:22 p.m. CET — Apartment rooftop, Brera Neighborhood
The sniper sprinted across the rooftop with calculated precision, his boots skimming the edge of the tiles as he leapt to a neighboring building. His rifle, strapped across his back, swayed with his movement while his gloved hand pressed against his earpiece.
"I don't have eyes on anymore," he reported tersely, his breath steady despite the exertion. He skidded to a halt near the corner of the roof, his sharp gaze sweeping the street below. "They're moving fast. We need to block off all the streets in Brera—every exit, every alley."
A voice crackled back in his ear, acknowledging the request, as the sniper dropped into a crouch, scanning for his next vantage point. Through his earpiece, the old man's voice reverberated faintly. "I don't have anyone else to send! You all are gonna have to get it done!"
The demand lingered in the sniper's ear just before the connection cut off with a final, distorted click.
The gunman folded his rifle with practiced efficiency, the sharp clicks of metal collapsing into a more compact form. From his slim, tactical backpack, he drew a sleek black drone, the soft hum of its rotors breaking the rooftop's silence.
Clutching the drone in one hand, he aimed his now-shortened rifle downward with the other. A sharp gust of wind swept past, catching his back as the drone's rotors lifted him higher. Suspended in midair, he floated like a silent specter above the city, the drone whining softly overhead. Gliding with eerie stillness, he scanned the streets below—eyes cold and unyielding, like a predator locked onto its prey.
4:25 p.m. CET — Between buildings, Brera Neighborhood
The brawny academy man moved with an eerie grace, his body vibrating at an intense frequency that let him slip through solid surfaces like smoke through a keyhole. In his arms, Loconda clung to Renata, holding her close as he carried them both through one building after another. The world blurred into streaks of light and shadow, and the sound of his heartbeat thrummed in Loconda's ears, perfectly in sync with the low hum of his vibrating energy.
She tried to focus—on the weight of Renata in her arms, on the warmth of flesh and breath—but everything kept slipping. Space folded and shifted around them, walls dissolving like mist, floors dropping out and reappearing. It felt like being caught in a dream she couldn't wake from, her thoughts scattering with each pulse of the man's body. For a moment, she couldn't tell if they were flying, falling, or being carried across some invisible seam in reality. She held Renata tighter, afraid that letting go meant losing herself in this ghostly blur of motion.
After what felt like an eternity of disorienting movement, they emerged, not in the heart of the city, but in an unexpected space—a quiet courtyard nestled between centuries-old stone buildings. They had arrived at the Chiostro di Santa Maria del Carmine, a vast open space encircled by the weathered arches of the Carmine Monastery. The air was still here, carrying the scent of moss and aged stone. Tall, thin trees swayed gently in the breeze, and the silence felt almost sacred, like a forgotten place between time.
Loconda's feet touched the soft grass with a muted thud, and she staggered backward, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The academy man, still vibrating at a subtle frequency, held Renata carefully in his arms, his face set with grim determination.
"We're safe for now," the man said, his voice a low rumble. "But not for long. We need to move."
Locanda pressed her hand to her temple, her thoughts spinning from the impossible series of events she had just witnessed. She turned to the strange man who had carried her and Renata through solid walls like they were nothing but air.
"What the heck is going on?" she demanded, her voice trembling with equal parts awe and panic. "And how did we just do that?"
The man adjusted his grip on Renata before setting her down gently. He loomed over Locanda, his deep-set eyes shadowed beneath a heavy brow. His face was weathered, a patchy beard framing his sharp jawline. "My name is Luca Venturi," he said in a gravelly yet calm tone. "I'll explain everything later, but first, we need to keep moving."
Loconda's gaze flickered over his attire—a fitted royal blue long-sleeve polo, patterned with intricate, subtle designs, tucked neatly into a dark leather belt. His navy-blue trousers were simple, offering a sharp contrast to the shirt's detailed fabric. His captain boots, heavy and scuffed, were clearly built for utility rather than style.
Before Locanda could press him further, Renata let out an excited yowl and bolted from Luca's side, her tiny legs carrying her across the courtyard.
"Renata, no!" Locanda shouted, sprinting after her. Luca growled something under his breath and followed, his massive strides closing the gap quickly.
Above them, the faint hum of rotors signaled the arrival of the sniper. He hovered silently over the courtyard, dangling from his drone like a bird of prey. His rifle glinted in the fading light as he leveled it at Luca.
Locanda glanced upward just in time to see the sniper take aim. "Look out!" she cried.
The shot rang out, sharp and deafening. Luca reacted instantly, his body shimmering as he vibrated at an impossible frequency. The bullet passed harmlessly through him, embedding itself into the grass below.
The sniper cursed under his breath, steadying his aim for another shot, but Luca was faster. In one fluid motion, he snatched a decorative stone from a nearby garden and hurled it upward. The projectile struck the drone dead-on, sending it spinning wildly out of control. The sniper, caught off balance, tumbled from his perch and crashed into the ground with a dull thud, his rifle clattering to the side.
Before Locanda could react, Luca scooped her and Renata up with practiced ease. "Hold on tight," he commanded.
"What are you—" Locanda began, but her words were cut off as they passed through the courtyard's stone wall as if it didn't exist.
They emerged into a grand hallway, its high ceilings adorned with frescoes and gilded frames. Locanda barely had time to register the breathtaking artwork before they passed through another wall, the transition seamless and surreal.
On the other side, they found themselves on a quiet side street, the dim hum of city life muffled by the narrow buildings. As soon as they emerged from the wall, Luca gently set Loconda down and took her hand. Renata was still nestled securely in his other arm. Without a word, they moved together toward a bus idling at the curb.
The doors hissed open. As they stepped aboard, Luca swiftly passed a few coins to the driver without breaking stride. Still holding Loconda's hand and cradling Renata in his other arm, he moved down the aisle. They took two seats near the back, and Loconda sank into hers, breathless, her eyes fixed on Luca.
"Look, you've got some explaining to do, sir," she said, her voice a mix of anger and desperation.
Luca kept his eyes on the city beyond the window, avoiding her gaze. "Alright," he said curtly. "I'll explain as much as I can, but the moment I sense danger, you jump on my back and hold tight. Got it?"
Locanda nodded, her hand gently stroking Renata's fur, the motion calm despite the storm of questions swirling in her mind. As she did, her gaze shifted back to Luca, studying his face. He was older, yet undeniably handsome, with a sharp jawline and light stubble speckled with both black and gray. His dark hair was slicked back, revealing streaks of silver at the temples, adding to his rugged, yet distinguished appearance. His expression was unreadable, but there was a subtle intensity to him, as if every moment was a calculated move.
The bus pulled away, disappearing into the maze of Milan's streets as shadows lengthened across the city. Luca's hands moved to roll up the sleeves of his polo, revealing the sinewy muscles beneath. He paused for a moment, steadying himself before he spoke, his voice dropping to a low, serious tone.
"First, I must ask," he began, his voice controlled, "Are you, in any way, related to Acadia Pueyrredon?"
Locanda blinked, her brow furrowing. "Yes… she's my aunt."
Luca's eyes narrowed slightly, his focus sharpening. "And you've been staying at her apartment?"
"Yes," Loconda nodded.
Luca exhaled sharply, rubbing his hands together as if the weight of the moment was finally setting in. "Well, your aunt has made enemies with some very dangerous people," he said, letting the words settle between them. "She's been missing for weeks now, and no one's been inside her apartment since. My guess is, when they saw someone who looks like a mini version of Acadia in her apartment, they decided to take you as leverage to get to her."
Loconda's eyes widened, her mind struggling to process the gravity of what he was saying.
"My colleague Francesca," Luca continued, his voice steady, "the green-coated lady you saw earlier, was assigned to monitor Acadia's apartment for any signs of her return. When a neighbor reported someone had entered, she called me—just in case things went south. We knew the place was being watched by dangerous people, and we couldn't afford to take any chances. Unfortunately, we were a few seconds too late. But all things considered, I'd say we did pretty well, especially since they clearly had the jump on us."
Loconda sat back, trying to piece together the chaos of the last hour. It was hard to grasp it all, but Luca's steady, grim voice kept her grounded. Her grip tightened on Renata, the little cat purring softly against her.
"Do you understand now?" Luca asked, his tone easing just slightly, though his gaze remained hard, sharp as ever.
She nodded, her mind still reeling, but the weight of his words settling like a stone in her stomach. This wasn't just some random attack—it was personal. And her aunt was somehow at the center of it all.
Loconda took a shaky breath, eyes wide. "Okay… and what about all this?" she said, waving her hand around, still trembling. "We just walked through a wall. Several walls, sir. And that woman in the green coat was out there throwing cars like ragdolls. We were vibrating through buildings, sir. Can we stop, and talk about how none of that should be possible? 'Cause right now, I feel like I'm losing my damn mind."
Luca leaned back in his seat, his posture still tense but controlled. "I'll explain as much as I can, but it's not something that can be easily understood. Not all at once."
He turned his head to meet her gaze, his dark eyes unwavering. "What you just saw and experienced—was the result of resonance or what we call frequency manipulation. It's a talent that some of us have. The ability to vibrate at such a high frequency that we can phase through solid matter—like you experienced when we moved through walls. You probably learned in school that everything in the world is made up of vibrating particles, each with its own natural frequency. Well, some of us can simply manipulate those frequencies to lift objects or pass through them.
Loconda's head was spinning. "So… you can just… phase through walls? Like… like it's nothing?"
Luca gave a slow, almost imperceptible nod. "Pretty much. But it takes control—a lot of it. And not everyone who can manipulate frequency can do it. It's rare, and it's dangerous if it's misused. It's also exhausting…" He let out a low yawn, rubbing the back of his neck. "Which is why I don't exactly do it for fun."
She processed his words, still struggling to grasp the enormity of what he was saying. "And you—you—can just… do it? Like some kind of superpower?"
He chuckled dryly, his gaze gentling for a moment. "I don't like to think of it as a 'superpower.' It's more of an… art. And it doesn't come without consequences. But yes, I can do it. And so can Professore Francesca."
"Professor?" Loconda asked, her brow tightening.
"Yes," Luca nodded, his voice steady. "We both teach at the academy."
Before Loconda could ask another question, a sharp jolt shook the bus, pulling her attention to the outside. She peered through the window, the sharp hum of the engine faltering as the vehicle slowed, the familiar cityscape outside fading into an unsettling stillness.
The bus halted with a hiss as three men in dark suits boarded, their synchronized movements exuding quiet menace. One stayed by the driver, while the other two moved down the aisle, pistols at the ready, scanning passengers with chilling precision.
"Don't look down," Luca murmured, his voice vibrating strangely in her ears. But curiosity—or fear—betrayed her. Loconda's gaze flicked downward, and she gasped. The floor of the bus shimmered and wavered like a mirage, giving way to the blurred shape of the pavement below. Her breath caught, and she shut her eyes tightly, her heart pounding in her chest.
By the time Loconda dared to open her eyes, the world around her was a blur of motion and shadows. She clung to Luca's back, her arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders as he sprinted down a narrow side street, his movements impossibly smooth yet inhumanly fast. The cool afternoon air stung her face, her hair whipping wildly in the wind.
"Hold tight," Luca warned, his voice steady as he plunged forward. With a final burst of speed, he raced toward a solid brick wall and phased through it—vanishing into the quiet embrace of the unknown.
Luca and Locanda tumbled into a plush bed on the other side of the wall. The suddenness of the transition sent them crashing together, but fortunately, the soft bedding cushioned their fall. Locanda blinked, disoriented, as the afternoon light filtered through the curtains, bathing the room in a warm glow.
She quickly scanned the space. The room was quiet, serene, almost too perfect for a place in the middle of the city. At the far end, an old Italian woman sat at a vanity mirror, her back to them. She was dressed in a simple robe, her frail hands moving slowly as she adjusted the comb in her hair.
For a moment, everything felt still, until the old woman turned, her eyes locking onto Locanda's. A gasp escaped her lips, followed by a blood-curdling scream that tore through the air. The woman's body jerked into motion, her slippers barely keeping pace as she bolted toward the door.
Shit. Locanda's heart thudded painfully in her chest. She had to move fast. If they were spotted, their position would be compromised.
She scrambled to Luca, trying to shake him awake. "Luca! Wake up!" she hissed, shaking his shoulder, but he didn't stir.
Renata, curled up near Luca, barely twitched in response. Both of them were practically dead weight.
Locanda cursed under her breath. This wasn't good. She needed Luca to be alert, but he was in no condition to move. She pressed her palm against his face, her voice urgent. "Luca, we have to go. Now."
Luca's eyes fluttered open, but they were distant, unfocused. He mumbled, his voice thick with exhaustion. "The… the power…to phase…it…it takes everything…each time…drains me…"
Locanda's frustration mounted. She couldn't carry them both out. Luca's limp body was too heavy to lift alone, and Renata, too, was completely out of it. Panic rose within her. She had to act, and fast.
With no time to waste, Locanda hastily wrapped the comforter around Luca's body, tugging it tightly around his limbs before bracing herself. She struggled to drag him across the room, his weight dragging her down with each move.
At the window, she carefully nudged the blinds apart with two fingers, just enough to peer through. Outside, the old woman was on the street, still wailing in a panic. A crowd had gathered around her, heads turning sharply toward the noise. Then Locanda saw them—men in dark suits, closing in on the scene, their eyes sweeping the surroundings.
Her pulse raced. She had mere seconds.
Locanda wrapped the bed's sheets tightly around Luca, trying her best to drag him out of the bedroom and into the hallway. Every step felt like an eternity as she moved toward the staircase. She paused, her gaze flicking down at the steep incline of the steps. Carrying Luca down was dangerous, but staying put wasn't an option.
Just then, a loud crash rang through the apartment. The distinct sound of a door being ripped off its hinges. The men were inside.
Locanda's heart stopped. Her eyes darted between Luca, still limp in her grasp, and the staircase.
A muffled thud echoed from below, followed by the crash of furniture and a sharp cry—cut off almost as soon as it began. Something—or someone—was fighting back. Then, silence.
She moved toward the edge of the stairs, her muscles screaming with the effort, when she heard the unmistakable sound of someone's footsteps echoing from below.
Seconds later, Francesca appeared at the bottom of the staircase, her hands drenched in blood and her expression eerily calm. Her clothes were tattered, as though she had been in battle.
"Sorry for the delay," Francesca said softly, as her eyes met Locanda's with quiet assurance. "I pray the wait wasn't too unbearable."