Elira

The safehouse was a fortress of shadows, its air heavy with the scent of old wood and gunpowder

I sat across from Matteo at a scarred oak table, my body still aching from the bruises of my past battles, my mind sharp with purpose.

The dagger lay between us, its blade glinting under the dim light of a single bulb, intricate carvings curling along its hilt like a whisper of secrets. It was more than just a weapon. It was a mystery, one Matteo guarded like his life depended on it. And I was done waiting for answers.

“Matteo,” I said, leaning forward, my voice low but firm. “Where...