The moon hung heavy above the Valentine estate, its pale light spilling over marble and stone, turning every shadow into a blade. The night air was taut, humming with a quiet violence.
Vincent's sword cut down in a streak of silver.
Luca's reflexes screamed before his mind could. He leapt back, the blade grazing the air where his chest had been. His breath tore out of him in disbelief, eyes wide.
"Brother—?! What the hell are you doing?!"
The only answer was Vincent's unbroken glare, his stance steady, his movements precise. Another strike came—faster, sharper, a diagonal cut aimed to shear through Luca's guard.
Luca's hand shot to his ring. In a flare of light, the twin sabers appeared, their curved blades gleaming coldly under the moon. For a heartbeat, Vincent's brows flicked upward—the barest crack in his mask.
"You…" he muttered under his breath, but his focus did not waver. His sword lunged again.
