The city learned nothing from the night before.
Palermo woke the way it always did, slow and stubborn and alive. Shops opened their shutters. Children ran past fountains. Tourists pointed cameras at history without understanding how close the past still lived beneath their feet.
But beneath the noise of the streets, the message spread.
Aria DeLuca would appear in public.
Not hidden.
Not fleeing.
Not afraid.
The announcement came quietly through the right channels. Invitations issued under the banner of charity and restoration. A public dedication to the rebuilt orphanage on the south side. The same one the Circle had once threatened. The same one Aria had poured her heart into long before bloodlines and vows and ancient doors tried to claim her.
It was deliberate.
It was controlled.
And it was bait.
