The streets of Rome were quiet, but the quiet carried a weight heavier than any chaos Dante and Isabella had endured. Narrow alleys and cobblestones gleamed under the soft glow of the streetlights, slick from the evening rain. Dante drove in silence, the city unfolding before him like a map of memory and danger combined. Isabella sat beside him, tense but grateful for the calm. For the first time in hours, they weren’t dodging bullets—but the tension never fully left them.

“Do you ever just… breathe?” she asked softly, breaking the silence.

Dante’s eyes stayed on the road, but she could see the slight twitch of his jaw, the hint...