SERAFINA’S POV
The vineyard estate smelled like dust and ghosts.
I stared at the photo again, its edges curling under my fingertips. My mother, bruised and barely conscious. An infant swaddled to her chest. And Eva Moretti—Subject Three—standing beside her like a silent sentinel.
She hadn’t failed. She hadn’t gone rogue. They’d lied. They always lied.
“Alessia,” I said, my voice sharper than glass. “We leave in twenty minutes.”
Alessia blinked. “You’re not even going to let me scrub satellite paths for another hour?”
“There’s no time.” I handed her the envelope. “This photo didn’t just appear by accident. Someone wanted us to see it now. That means they know we’re close.”
Luca shifted beside the fireplace. “Then it’s a trap.”
“Good,” I said, strapping a blade to my thigh. “Let them
