The river roared like a wounded beast behind them, but Alessia didn't hear it anymore.
She was frozen in Luca's arms, her breath shaking against his chest, her voice still echoing with the terror she could not swallow.
Luca felt her trembling as if it were his own.
"Alessia…" he whispered, cupping her face. "Look at me. ...What did he say?"
Her eyes lifted—slowly, hollowly as though the weight of Donato's scream had cracked something inside her.
"He was calling my name," she whispered.
Elowen staggered back, her hand flying to her mouth.
"No… no, that can't be right. Donato doesn't panic. Donato doesn't call for help, not like that."
But Alessia didn't look away, she couldn't.
Because the truth was too sharp, too loud, too devastating.
"He wasn't calling for Luca," she repeated, voice breaking. "He was calling me."
Luca's jaw clenched, a muscle ticking violently.
He wasn't jealous this wasn't about jealousy.
This was about Donato.
The man who had taken bullets for him.
