The next morning, Seravalle looked harmless again.
Sunlight washed over the stone streets. The fountain sparkled. Whatever tension Elena had felt the night before seemed almost foolish.
Almost
She was arranging books outside the store when she sensed someone watching her.
Daniel.
He stood across the square, hands in his pockets, studying the bookstore sign.
"You open early," he said as he approached.
"We like quiet customers," Elena replied lightly.
A small smile touched his lips, but his eyes looked tired — like he hadn't slept much.
"Can I ask you something?" he said.
"That depends."
"How long has your family owned this place?"
The question felt too direct.
"Three generations," she answered carefully. "Why?"
"No reason," he said quickly. "Just curious."
Another lie.
As she stepped back inside to grab a box of old novels, Daniel followed — and accidentally knocked into her near the doorway.
Books slipped from her arms and scattered across the floor.
"I'm sorry," he said, kneeling to help.
Their hands brushed while picking up a fallen book.
For a brief second, neither pulled away.
Daniel's gaze dropped to the inside cover.
Moretti.
His jaw tightened again.
"You okay?" Elena asked softly.
He looked up at her, something unreadable in his expression.
"Yeah," he said. "Just… strange how history repeats itself."
"What does that mean?"
But he was already standing.
"Nothing," he replied. "Forget I said that."
As he stepped back into the sunlight, Elena felt it again — that unsettling certainty.
Daniel wasn't just visiting.
He was searching.
And whatever he was looking for…
Had something to do with her family.