Marco did not knock before entering.
He never had.
Not in the years before Alessandro had taken the chair.
Not in the months after.
And certainly not tonight—
When hesitation would cost more than interruption.
"She's on the lower level."
Alessandro didn't look up.
Because the file in front of him already said so.
Because the escort had already confirmed.
Because transport had already been prepared.
Uff.
Duty did not arrive with clarity.
It arrived with paperwork.
"If she stays," Marco said quietly, "she dies."
The words landed with more force than any raised voice could have managed.
Alessandro's hand tightened around the pen.
Because death had not been hypothetical since the ridge went dark.
Because watchers had not retreated.
Because suppression had not deterred—
Only delayed.
"She survives exile," Marco continued.
"Or she becomes leverage."
Ridiculous.
Because protection should not look like removal.
Because survival should not require absence.
