Florence didn't arrive quietly. It greeted them with bold sunlight, a riot of color, and streets that felt alive.
They arrived by train, slipping through the countryside in a first-class cabin that smelled faintly of espresso and new leather. Annie had her head against the window, tracing invisible lines across the hills. Bella was busy counting the vineyards, losing track every five minutes, then starting over with unbothered joy. Lukas sat still. His hand covered Annie's.
By the time they stepped onto the platform at Firenze Santa Maria Novella, Florence was already in motion around them—art students rushing past, old men arguing softly over soccer, and women laughing in Italian as if they were born from the sun itself.
