The square had already endured too much to remain unchanged, yet when the past stepped into the present once more, it did not simply shift—it remembered, as though the very ground recognized the echo of an older war now rising again.
Michele felt it first, not through sight but through instinct, the subtle tightening in his chest, the faint shift in the air that spoke of a presence he had not forgotten, no matter how many years had passed.
His fingers stilled upon his weapon, his breath slowing as he turned slightly, his gaze cutting through the fractured space until it found the one figure who stood unmoved amidst the chaos.
Roberto De Luca did not step loudly, nor did he force his presence into the moment, yet the quiet authority he carried reshaped the air around him with a calm that felt heavier than any violence.
