Chapter 69

The wind was still.

The fire of the funeral pyre flickered its last flame.

Marcello’s burial had just ended, and the mourners stood quietly, their heads bowed in respect, eyes glazed with sorrow and fatigue. I could still smell the incense in the air, mingling with the faint scent of crushed jasmine petals. The stars above blinked gently through the veil of darkness, bearing silent witness to our