Venice, 1652 — When the Hunter Finds the First Thread
The Minister of Secrets had always trusted stone more than people.
People lied.Stone remembered.
Every marble step of the Doge's Palace carried a century of footfalls. Every brick of Venice's winding alleys stored the vibrations of hurried notes, whispered confessions, lovers' promises, traitors' footsteps, and—on rare occasions—something stranger.
Tonight was one of those occasions.
He reached the small torchlit square near the old salt warehouse, cane tip grazing the ground. The stone hummed faintly—just faintly—like a voice caught inside memory.
He knelt.
Pressed two fingers against the cold surface.
The vibration was thin, young, and hesitant.
A child's resonance.
Not Jakob's.
But someone who had touched Jakob's harmonic trail.
Someone who had leaned into the deep and come back changed.
"Not the boy," the Minister whispered. "Someone near him."
He stood slowly.
Fog drifted at knee height, curling in coils that didn't match the wind. The fog was disturbed—broken patterns, crosscurrents where there should be calm. Someone had passed here, carrying stress, urgency, and the faint dissonance of recent fear.
"Two hours old," he muttered. "No more."
The Minister was not young, but his senses were sharp. He turned toward a narrow alley branching into deeper fog. A fisherman watched him from a corner, cigarette flickering.
"You," the Minister said.
The fisherman straightened immediately. "Signore?"
"You saw a girl pass this way."
The fisherman swallowed. "Many girls pass here, signore—"
The Minister lifted his cane, revealing the small copper insignia of the Republic carved into its handle.
Not a threat.
A reminder.
"Oh," the fisherman whispered. "That girl."
The Minister waited.
"She came fast," the fisherman said. "Almost running. Dark hair. Maybe twenty. Didn't look up. Didn't look around. Like she was listening to something I couldn't hear."
The Minister nodded once, confirming what he had sensed.
Elena.
He didn't yet know her name, but he knew her signature.
"How long ago?" the Minister asked.
"A little before sundown," the fisherman said. "Maybe an hour, maybe two."
"Which way?"
"She crossed the bridge over the Rio del Arsenale," he said. "Toward the workshops."
"The workshops?"That was closer than the Minister hoped.
He tossed the fisherman a silver ducat.
"Tell no one you spoke to me," he said.
The fisherman bowed and vanished into the fog.
The Minister turned toward the workshop quarter.
He tapped his cane.
Once.
Twice.
A subtle vibration rippled through the fog. Not resonance—simple pressure. A wave that any trained city-listener could feel.
Two shadows detached themselves from an archway and approached silently.
The Minister's personal shadows—Sarto and Dell'Aqua—neither of whom spoke more than a dozen words in a week.
"We follow," the Minister said.
They nodded.
Elena was already running out of time.
She slipped along the northern edge of the lagoon, close to the water where the fog was thickest. Her breath came fast but quiet—she had learned to run silently as a child dodging patrols through flooded backstreets.
She wasn't hiding from the city.
She was frightened of failing it.
"Kessel said we needed time," she whispered to herself. "Just time."
But time was melting.
She glanced backward.
The fog shifted unnaturally—almost in rhythm.
Someone was following her.
No.Not just someone.
The city itself was watching her footfalls now. Venice was beginning to track her the same way she tracked resonance.
She pressed tighter to the wall.
Luca's warning echoed in her mind:
If someone in Venice understands the deep… they'll find you faster than Vienna.
She had laughed when he said it.
She wasn't laughing now.
She reached the final turn toward the workshop—And stopped.
She felt him.
A presence.Calm.Patient.Experienced.
Not Verani's cold, hollow unmaking.
Not Vienna's sharp, probing intrusion.
Something older.
A listener who had never touched resonancebut understood its wake.
"The Minister of Secrets…" she whispered.
Her spine went rigid.
She melted into a shadowed alcove and forced her breath silent—so silent she could hear the blood moving inside her ears.
Footsteps approached.
Measured.Unhurried.Deliberate.
The Minister's cane clicked once on stone.
He paused.
She didn't move.
His next words were quiet, but the fog carried them perfectly.
"You are close," he said.
Elena pressed against the wall until it felt she might merge with it.
"I do not know your name," the Minister said. "I do not know your face. But I know what you touched."
Elena swallowed.
Her throat hurt from holding breath.
"You touched something dangerous," the Minister continued. "And Venice may pay the price."
Elena forced her breath out slowly.
Then in.
Then out.
The Minister's cane tapped the ground again.
"I am not here to punish," he said. "I am here to understand."
He turned a little.
Fog swirled around him, showing the faint outline of two silent figures behind him.
Elena felt her pulse sharpen.
If she stepped out now, she would be taken.
She heard Kessel's voice from hours earlier:
If Vienna catches you, they will interrogate. If Venice catches you, they will decide.
She didn't know which was worse.
The Minister began walking again.
Not toward her.
Toward the workshop.
Her heart clenched.
If he reached the others before she warned them—Kessel would be exposed.Luca would be taken.Chiara would fight and be outmatched.Matteo would panic.Everything they built would collapse.
Elena stepped out of the alcove without thinking.
"Stop."
Her voice cut through the fog.
The Minister froze.
Sarto and Dell'Aqua turned sharply, hands on hidden blades.
Elena raised her palms—not surrendering, only showing she was unarmed.
"You found me," she said.
The Minister studied her.
"Elia V.," he said softly. "Or… whatever your true name is."
"Elena Velluti."
He nodded once. "A Murano name. Fitting."
She tried to steady her voice. "What do you want?"
"To understand," he said. "Why Vienna believes you are sheltering a danger."
"We aren't hiding Jakob," Elena said.
"You know his name."Not a question.
She closed her eyes.
"Yes."
The Minister stepped closer.
Only one pace.
Elena held steady.
"You shaped resonance," he said quietly. "A pane shattered in your hands."
"It was already breaking."
"You repaired it."
"I tried."
"You drew a false drift."
"I protected a child."
He nodded slowly. "And in doing so, you endangered a city."
Elena's voice cracked. "We didn't choose this—"
"No one ever chooses," the Minister said gently. "The deep chooses. And Venice reacts."
Elena stared at him.
He surprised her.
He wasn't cruel.He wasn't accusatory.He was… tired.
"Tell me what you seek," he said.
Elena considered lying.
Instead, she whispered:
"Safety."
"For whom?"
"Everyone."
A faint, almost sorrowful smile touched the Minister's lips.
"A noble wish," he said. "But naïve."
She swallowed. "I know what Vienna wants."
"Yes," the Minister said. "So do I."
"They'll take the boy."
"Yes."
"They'll blame us."
"Yes."
"They'll use your city as their stage."
"Yes."
"Then why aren't you helping us stop them?"
The Minister looked genuinely pained.
"I am trying," he said.
Elena felt tears burn at the edges of her eyes.
"So help me now."
Silence stretched.
Sarto and Dell'Aqua watched every muscle of her face.
The Minister finally spoke.
"You are not my enemy."
Her chest loosened—
"But," he continued, "you are not my ally either."
Her breath stilled.
"I need to know your intentions," he said. "Your abilities. Your leader."
Elena's pulse jumped.
Leader.
He meant Kessel.
She shook her head. "No."
The Minister's gaze sharpened.
"No?" he repeated.
"You cannot have him."
"I am not here for him," the Minister said calmly. "I am here for the truth."
"We are protecting Jakob."
"From whom?"
"Mistakes."
The Minister exhaled slowly.
"Venice," he said softly, "cannot protect what it does not understand."
He stepped closer again.
Elena didn't back away.
"Show me," he said.
Elena blinked. "What?"
"Show me what Vienna fears," he said. "Let me hear it. Let me feel it. Let me understand why Rosenfeld wants this child."
"I can't," Elena whispered.
"You can."
"No," she said again. "Not here. Not with your shadows. Not with the city listening."
The Minister considered her.
Finally, he raised a hand.
His agents stepped back into the fog.
Elena felt a strange pull—not resonance,but… trust?
"Very well," the Minister said. "We speak alone."
She hesitated.
Then:
"Follow me."
The Minister nodded once.
And the two walked into the fog.
Not hunter and hunted.
Not enemies.
Two people walking toward a truth that neither fully knew—
And behind them, unseen, two shadows followed at a distance.
Because the Minister of Secrets trusted Elena Velluti…
…but not enough to walk blind.