The city burned.
Flames climbed the towers like vengeful spirits, devouring banners, swallowing steel. The night sky was blood-red, lit by the firestorm that spread from the cathedral to the lower streets. Screams mingled with the roar of collapsing stone.
Isla sprinted through the ruins, lungs on fire, cloak torn and streaked with soot. Jonas ran beside her, rifle slung across his shoulder, his arm brushing hers with every desperate stride. Behind them, Dante's soldiers poured through the smoke, shouting her name as if it were a curse.
"Left!" Jonas shouted.
They dove into an alley just before a volley of bullets cracked the air. Sparks burst from the wall beside Isla's head. She stumbled, caught herself, and kept moving.
"We can't keep running!" Rhea's voice came from behind — breathless but sharp. She leapt over a fallen cart, landing beside them. "They're circling us!"
