Smoke and dust hung thick in the air, swirling through the ruined convent like ghosts mourning the dead. The scent of burning wood mixed with the coppery tang of blood. The once-pristine courtyard was unrecognizable—bodies lay strewn across the stone floor, habits stained red, fingers still curled around the weapons they had fought with. Bullet holes riddled the chapel walls, and shattered stained-glass windows cast fragmented colors onto the carnage below. Flames crackled in the distance, devouring part of the east wing, their light flickering like dying prayers.

Arya stepped over a body, careful not to let her boots slip on the slickness of fresh blood. She felt Leonardo’s presence...