The knock came again. Sharp. Measured. Real.

Leonardo quickly put on his clothes. He barely registered Arya opening the door. His mind was slipping, his thoughts running in circles, tangled and fraying at the edges. His grip on his gun tightened, the weight of it grounding him, tethering him to something solid in the haze clouding his vision.

Then he saw her.

His breath caught, his world narrowing to just her.

Adriana.

Slumped in Roberto’s arms. Blood soaking her chest, her breaths shallow, labored.

Her dark eyes met his, the same ones Arya had inherited, and in them, he saw no anger, no blame—just acceptance.

Leonardo staggered forward, his mind...