The blinking red light was deafening.

It pulsed like a heartbeat — steady, taunting, merciless.

Isabella’s breath hitched as the device trembled in her grip. The rain outside battered the windows like a furious drum, thunder rolling in sync with her pulse.

Dante stood only a few feet away, one hand outstretched, the other still bleeding from Lucia’s blade.

“Isabella,” he said softly, his voice hoarse with desperation, “put it down.”

She couldn’t hear him — not really. The roar of the storm drowned everything. Her mind flashed with images — her father’s lifeless body, Lucia’s smirk, Dante’s eyes when he said he loved her. Every truth, every lie, every...