The forest stretched endlessly before them, dark and dripping with rain. Every breath of wind carried the scent of smoke from the fortress that once stood behind them. Isla could still see the faint glow on the horizon, a smear of orange and black staining the night sky. Her home—her fight—was gone, reduced to cinders by the man who once swore to protect her.
They had escaped through the old tunnels, the same ones Dante had once shown her during the early days when she was still learning the villa's secrets. That irony carved at her chest like a blade. Even her freedom now had his fingerprints on it.
"Keep moving," Luca urged, his voice hoarse. He was bleeding from his shoulder, every step leaving a faint trail on the muddy ground. "We're close to the river. If we reach it before dawn, his men won't be able to track us."
