"Milo... wake up."
I force my eyes open and find Fiore's face hovering over me.
"W–what time is it?" I mumble, still thick with sleep.
"A bit past eight. Dinner's almost ready," he says. "Did you get some rest?" he adds gently, brushing a strand of hair away from my forehead.
I blink a few times—and like a truck crashing the wrong way down a one-way street, it hits me: I fell asleep on one of the anguane's boudoirs.
Alone.
Bile rises in my throat at the thought of Fiore having fun with the nymphs while I just lay here rotting.
I jerk my head away, shrugging off his touch.
He freezes, startled, then lowers his gaze with an expression I can't quite read.
"W–where's Romie?" I ask, sitting up suddenly. I can't bring myself to look at him.
"Over there. She's helping with dinner."
We sit in silence for a few seconds.
"Milo..."
"What?" I answer, empty.
"After dinner, I'll need to be gone again for a while. But..." he hesitates.
"Be gone?"
"Yeah... with Embera," he mutters, scratching the side of his nose.
"Oh. Round two. Got it."
"More like round ten," he attempts to joke, but the smile fades the second he catches my expression. "I just need to... make sure the information stays hidden as long as possible."
"Well—if you need to make sure, by all means, go ahead. Who am I to stop you." I reply coolly, staring out at the valley slowly sinking into darkness.
"Listen—it's the only kind of leverage that works with them. You get that, right?" he says, tension snapping into his features.
"Yeah, I totally get it. I'm getting used to your habit of never explaining anything. Everything's going great," I answer evenly, though the edge of bitterness slips through. I stand and walk toward the railing.
"If everything's so great, why are you pulling away from me?" he presses, following me.
"Because you're suffocating."
Down below, scattered lights flick on among the houses dotting the mountainside.
Fiore sets his hands on the railing on either side of mine, boxing me in without touching me: a cage shaped like an almost embrace.
"I'm suffocating you?"
I turn toward him, crossing my arms. "You tell me. Don't you notice how there's zero personal space between us? Back off."
"I thought you liked how close I stayed," he teases, a half-smile tugging at his mouth.
"Oh—please. You don't have the faintest idea what I like," I snap.
"Mmm, really? I thought I learned a thing or two the other night," he murmurs, leaning closer, lips ghosting toward my neck.
I stop him instantly with my hand.
"Listen... that night was a mistake."
"A mistake?" he echoes, eyes widening.
"We shouldn't have." I pull one of his hands off the railing and step away again. "I shouldn't have."
He stands still for a beat... then moves.
In one swift motion, he wraps himself around me from behind.
My heart rockets into my throat at the sudden contact.
"Ever since the hearth, I haven't stopped thinking about it," he whispers, arms firm around my waist.
His breath slides along my neck.
My body answers instantly—as always. Too fast.
"I want to feel you against me again. Touch your skin. I know you want it too."
He buries his face in my hair, breathing me in.
I can't breathe.
The scent of flowers makes me dizzy, my head swims, heat coils low in my belly.
No. No—not like this.
"S–stop..." I manage.
"Your body doesn't agree," he murmurs near my ear.
"And y–you shouldn't listen to it," I answer softly, not meeting his eyes. "It's just how my body reacts when t-things get this way."
I try to pull free, but I lack any real conviction.
Still, he suddenly freezes and lets go, lifting both hands as he did that time at my place.
"If you say no now, I'll walk away."
I turn toward him, clasping my hands together, nerves buzzing through me.
The truth is... I want him.
With everything I have.
I want to fall into his arms.
I want to forget everything inside him.
But I already know how it would end.
I step back.
"No."
Fiore locks eyes with me. A soft breeze slips between us, carrying the sweet incense scent of the cave.
Then he exhales, shoulders slumping.
"Okay... I'm sorry."
He runs a hand through his hair without looking at me and turns away.
"It's the same for you, isn't it?" The words slip out before I can stop them.
"Me or them... it makes no difference."
He stops.
"No—" he replies immediately, caught off guard. Then hesitates. "I don't know."
He doesn't turn around.
He leaves.
I stay there, legs trembling.
I slide down onto the floor, burying my face in my hands.
My eyes burn...and this time it's not just the incense.
-
"Then, Amon... where are they? No traces for a while now. And I'm getting irritated."
"Ah, that irritation of yours... I could spot it from miles away. No, my dear Elsa—they haven't vanished. They've just gone to ground. Fragile creatures get clever when they feel death on their neck."
"Yes, but not clever enough to escape forever. It's only a matter of time."
"Time. A word you should treat with a little more... care."
"Don't you dare."
"I'm just saying... While they breathe freely, you slowly burn yourself down to ash. Watching you smolder is almost a pleasure."
"Silence! I don't need reminders. I want that little exorcist in my hands... and the fairy orbiting him erased."
"The fairy... oh yes. Tenacious. Irritating. Cutting his wings would be a start... but it wouldn't finish the job."
"Then destroy whatever keeps him standing. I don't care how. He has to go."
"To do that, we need to find them. The world is wide, and they keep low."
"That's why I summoned you. Loose your legions. Every shadow. No corner untouched."
"Every wish you voice is an order... my queen."
"Spare me the mockery. And remember our pact."
"How could I forget? It's carved into my flesh... and into yours."
-
I push the spoon around the plate in front of me without much conviction: a farro-and-vegetable salad that looks genuinely appetizing, but my throat is tight. Every forced bite tastes like dust.
After our pointless, exhausting confrontation, I eventually made my way to Fiore in the kitchen. Romie had that blissed-out look of someone who's just lived the best afternoon of their life. I checked that she was okay, then we all sat down together.
The anguane prepared a simple vegan dinner, with clean flavors, gentle aromas. Yet something in the air feels wrong—like a sour note ruining an otherwise perfect melody.
Or maybe it's just in my head. These days, my perception feels more and more warped.
At the end of the day, stripping away all the supernatural madness, it really is just a normal dinner: everyone chatting easily, laughing, passing bowls around... nobody clinging to anyone. Everything is perfectly ordinary.
And still, my stomach keeps folding in on itself.
"Not to your taste?" Brina asks with a kind smile.
"Oh—no, it's great. I just don't have much of an appetite," I reply, returning an uncertain grin.
"You feeling okay?" Romie asks, a thread of worry in her voice.
"Yeah, I'm just tired. If you don't mind, I think I'm going to lie down."
I start to stand, but Fiore stops me. "Wait, Milo. Let's go over the plan for tomorrow first."
His voice is calm. Neutral. He looks toward me... but not really at me.
"Mm. Okay," I say dully, staying on my feet.
"So..." He clears his throat a little harder than necessary. "The girls told us the Intuitive who had the Heptameron returned to the countryside south of Verona before disappearing."
"Do we know where exactly?" Romie asks. " 'South of Verona' is kinda... broad."
"Yeah. But I have a friend who might be able to help us narrow it down. We should pay him a visit in the morning." He rubs at his nose, then folds his arms. "We'll need to leave early—there's a long hike back to the car."
"Mmm. Okay." I nod faintly, one eyebrow lifting. "Anything else?"
This time, he really looks at me.
For a moment, I think he's going to say something more—but his mouth tightens into a thin line and he looks away.
"No... that's everything, I think," he finishes, touching his nose again.
"All right. Excuse me—good night," I say shortly, already turning away to head back to where I collapsed earlier. At this point, we might as well call it my room. One place is as good as any.
God, I'm tired.
My eyelids are already drooping as I think that, yeah, sleep will fix everything. It's just exhaustion. Nothing else.
The moment I reach the boudoir cushions, I let myself fall and sink straight into unconsciousness.
A couple of hours later, I wake up to bursts of laughter a little too loud for comfort, somewhere nearby. Must still be them having their fun... I don't want to hear it. Enough already.
With a grimace, I rub my eyes and check my phone: past midnight.
I was dreaming again about that glowing place—and that same solemn voice—but I can't remember what it was saying this time. The only thing that stuck is the familiar wave of heat, stronger than usual. This dream is getting more and more recurrent. Maybe it's because I've been sleeping so badly lately—my brain never really shuts off anymore.
I sit up slowly. My mouth feels dry, sticky with thirst.
Time to find something to drink.
The kitchen is dimly lit. On the table there's a glass cake dome with a single slice inside and a little note:
"For Milo! In case you get hungry :) — Brina."
In my chest, a tiny warm spark lights up. She may be a little... unconventional, but she's genuinely kind.
I lift the dome and take the soft slice dusted with powdered sugar. It's sweet and feather-light, almost airy. My stomach twists a little when I bite into it, but it holds. I pour myself a glass of water and sit down, letting the silence settle around me.
So... where exactly are we?
I open the maps app on my phone: the blue GPS dot floats in the middle of absolute nowhere, miles from any road. Great. Looks like we'll have a serious hike back to civilization tomorrow.
Awesome. Now I'm bored. Let's scroll a bit.
I open my social app. Scroll—cute animals. Scroll—food pics. Scroll, scroll... until a post from my bouldering gym pops up.
Hey.
That's Enrico.
I pinch to zoom on the photo: Enrico, standing among some students, smiling.
God, I miss climbing.
It feels like forever since the last time I touched a wall. I never realized how much that focus—one hold after another—kept my head clear.
I also notice he's tagged in the picture. Weird. He never used to be. I remember because Romie did her usual digital detective routine and practically found nothing on him; just some old high school shots, his motorcycle, a couple of beer pics.
Now though... he's got a whole shiny new profile.
And damn boy, what a glow-up: Enrico scaling a wall, every muscle taut; Enrico shirtless in the mirror, flexing a bicep; Enrico laughing at a concert with friends...
Not bad at all, Enrico. Not bad.
I scroll through the photos slowly like a total stalker, half amused, half buzzed with that strange charge under the skin.
And beneath it all, an ache creeps in.
Fiore, with his half-said things and that constant, ambiguous physical closeness... does it even make sense to keep looking for something in him that isn't there?
Or worse, something that is there, but that he keeps burying for reasons he never voices?
I shouldn't have to read between the lines to understand how someone feels.
And the more I sit with it, the clearer it becomes: I want someone who speaks plainly. Someone who doesn't dodge their feelings, who doesn't leave me guessing.
Someone who can look me in the eye and say what they feel... and maybe help me do the same, instead of tying myself into emotional knots all alone.
Someone clear. Steady. A hand offered like a climber's grip on the wall—solid, reliable—something real to build from.
A genuine connection.
Yeah.
I finally get it now.
That's all I want.
And honestly... that doesn't feel like asking for the moon.