The villa was quiet, too quiet. Elena walked through the dimly lit corridors, every sense alert. The city had survived the first strike of DeLuca’s forces, but the air was heavy with unease — the kind that comes not from an external enemy, but from within.

Enzo stood at the end of the hallway, arms crossed, jaw tight. “Something isn’t right,” he said, his voice low, carrying the tension that Elena felt but hadn’t voiced.

Elena approached him, placing a hand over his. “What do you mean?”

He turned, dark eyes locking onto hers. “Someone inside this villa knows more than they should. They’ve been feeding intel, and I can’t...