The night had a strange stillness, the kind that presses down on you until it feels like the air itself is conspiring against you. I sat at the edge of the bed, my fingers wrapped tightly around a warm mug of tea, and stared at the floor. Each sip was a little piece of calm I forced into my system, but the calm didn’t last. Not really.

Dante was across the room, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed, the dim light from the single lamp catching the lines in his face. He looked exhausted, but still alert, as if every muscle in his body was ready for something...