The fog did not retreat.
It hovered outside the shattered windows and the trembling walls, a living presence pressed against the compound like a second skin. The Patron did not move either. He remained in the storm, standing motionless, cloaked in the unnatural glow that pulsed from the sky. The sentinels behind him were aligned with military precision, the strange silhouettes still as statues carved from shadow and thunder.
The only thing that moved was the lightning.
And fear.
Inside the medical wing, Aria's body finally went limp in Luca's arms. Not unconscious, but drained. Her breathing steadied, chest rising and falling slowly against him. Her fingers remained curled in his shirt, gripping the fabric as though afraid that letting go would open the door inside her again.
Rosetta checked her pulse with trembling hands. "She is holding on. Barely. But she is holding."
