Wind stirred through the broken sanctuary windows, brushing the stone like a sigh.

Ceasare stepped into the light of the altar, face half-shadowed by the flame’s flicker. His movements were unhurried, deliberate—like a priest preparing an offering.

From the folds of his cloak, he drew a velvet pouch the color of faded moss.

“This... was Mother’s,” he said softly.

Alberta turned. The word “Mother” struck the air like a cracked bell.

Ceasare opened the pouch. Inside rested an amulet—green crystal framed in worn silver. A faint fracture split its center like a hairline crack in glass, almost invisible unless the light hit it just right.

“She wore it when she traveled. Said it always brought her home.”

The silence that followed was thick.

Alberta’s fingers hovered, hesitant—then closed around it. Slowly. Carefully. As if memory itself might bite.

Francesca stepped closer, her voice like a blade wrapped in silk. “Where has it been all this time?”

Ceasare’s smile was calm. “I’ve kept it with me.”

But Francesca’s eyes didn’t soften.

Later, when they were alone, she leaned toward Alberta beneath the stairwell and whispered:

“Even saints can build prisons. And Ceasare? He’s building his with a smile.”

Alberta didn’t respond.

But she didn’t take the amulet off.

------

That night, Alberta sat at the edge of the old well, legs curled beneath her, the amulet in her lap.

The moon hung low, caught between clouds like a prisoner between confessions.

She broke the silence with a question so soft, it nearly disappeared.

“Do you think Herleva is still alive?”

Francesca blinked. “Your stepmother?”

Alberta nodded. “And Beatrice… she was always loud, always angry, but she didn’t deserve that fear.”

She traced the edge of the amulet absently. “I should’ve been there.”

Francesca’s voice turned gentle. “You did what you had to do to survive.”

“They may have hated me,” Alberta murmured, “but they were still… mine.”

A pause.

The candle between them flickered—then guttered out.

And the amulet pulsed once. Soft. Slow. Like a distant heartbeat trying to return.

--------

Before dawn, Ceasare found Alberta near the ruined altar.

“There’s more,” he said, voice hushed.

His gaze swept across the sleeping sanctuary—toward Cornelius, then Dantes.

“After the estate fell… Father survived. He’s alive. Hiding. Gathering strength.”

Alberta’s breath caught. “He’s alive?”

Ceasare nodded. “He doesn’t trust the Church anymore. And he shouldn’t.”

Francesca stepped into the conversation like a blade unsheathed. “What are they doing?”

“Investigating. But not for justice.” Ceasare’s voice sharpened. “They’re looking for what Mercedes left behind. For power.”

Alberta’s grip on the amulet tightened, knuckles pale.

“And Herleva?” she asked quietly.

Ceasare looked away.

That was answer enough.

------

By morning, they reached the coast.

The docks of Virelle emerged from the mist—wooden planks like ribs rising from the sea. Ships floated in silence, tethered like ghosts too tired to leave.

Francesca squinted through the haze. “It’s too quiet.”

Cornelius muttered, “I don’t like quiet.”

Ceasare said nothing—but his eyes flicked to the treeline. His hand hovered near his blade.

The group moved as one, footsteps soft on wet earth.

And then—

The sky cracked open.

-------

A scream tore the fog.

Then green flame lit the horizon.

Not fire—corruption.

The Wane.

Smoke billowed. Shadows moved—fast, inhuman, unnatural. Masked. Hungry.

Figures surged from the trees.

Chaos erupted.

Francesca was thrown back by a blast. Cornelius vanished behind a falling tree. Alberta’s horse reared, shrieking.

And Alberta—

Fell.

The amulet burned against her chest.

She hit the ground.

Then—

Darkness.

---------

She awoke with dirt in her mouth and salt in the air.

“Next time,” a familiar voice drawled, “duck sooner.”

Alberta blinked up.

Dantes stood over her, shirt torn, blade bloodied, eyes narrowed against the light.

“We lost the others,” he said. “Or they lost us.”

He held out his hand.

She took it.

And for a moment, just a moment, she let herself lean into the steadiness of his grip.

The amulet at her neck shimmered—then dimmed, like it had inhaled something only it could see.

In the distance, through the trees and fog—

A sound rose.

A scream that did not belong to anything human.

And it was coming closer.