Page 12 of Iron Roses

I draw a cross over it.

Then I extinguish the candles one by one.

The room darkens, but the scent lingers—wax, stone, rose oil, and rust. I leave the chamber.

The wall seals behind me without a sound.

Back in the study, Lorenzo paces. He stops when he hears the latch.

There’s a phone in his hand. Screen lit.

He looks at me once. “It’s her.” He holds the phone out. “Allegra.”

“I need a place for her,” Allegra says. “I pulled her out, but they’ll keep coming. She’s alive. The girl. Oreste’s daughter.”

The line crackles softly.

“I can’t keep her safe out here. You can. If you won’t—say nothing. Hang up. If you will… hand the phone to Lorenzo.”

I hold the phone.

Lorenzo watches me. Still. Waiting.

I hand him the device.

Then I walk away.

Chapter Three – Elaria

The moss beneath me is damp and cold, but I don’t feel it anymore. Not really.

I sit with my knees pulled close, arms limp at my sides, my palms streaked with dried blood. My lips are chapped, parted. My breath stutters in my throat even though I’m not crying. Not anymore. That part of me already broke and scattered across the study floor hours ago.

Evening light filters through the trees in fractured gold, but it feels wrong. Like the sun shouldn't be shining at all.

I watch it flicker through the branches, blinking. My heart. My limbs. The way the world sounds like it’s underwater.

A soft rustle beside me. Then a presence. I don’t flinch. I barely move.

The woman is crouched at my side. She has a metal tin in one hand, gauze in the other. Her sleeves are rolled to her elbows. Her movements are quick, efficient. Like she’s done this a thousand times before.

"Hold still," she says, voice low and cool.

She dabs the corner of my mouth with something that stings. I hiss softly.

"That’s just alcohol. You’re lucky they only bruised you." She glances at my cheekbone, then nods once to herself. "No fracture."

I nod, because it’s the easiest thing to do. Nodding doesn’t ask questions. Nodding doesn’t bleed.

A bird calls somewhere high above, distant and sharp. The trees creak like old bones.

She wraps a strip of cloth around my wrist without asking. I watch her fingers. They’re steady. Calloused. Not cruel, but not gentle either.

“We’ll move by midnight,” she says after a moment. “They’ll be tracking the grounds until then. But night buys us time. And cover.”

“Midnight,” I echo, the word catching in my throat like a stone. I look down at my hands. They’re trembling.

Silence stretches between us. It’s not comforting. It’s not heavy either. It just… is.

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