Chapter 18

Weston

I slipped beneath the canopy of trees, trusting the Corvino map to guide us into the heart of northern Italy, but nothing had prepared me for a forest so eerily vacant that even Nox’s muzzle twitched at the silence.

Matteo Rinaldi was supposed to be here somewhere, but it was like finding a needle in a haystack. Dominic followed close behind, boots cracking twigs, and at some point he asked, “Why do all these so-called ancient supernatural hideouts look exactly like the kind of place where people vanish without a trace?”

I didn’t bother to answer.

I focused on the shifting shadows between the trunks, sensing that this forest wasn’t merely dangerous; it was controlled. It felt as though each root and branch watched our steps, judging our worth. When I finally growled, “Stop,” Dominic halted mid-stride, and the world froze around us.

No animals stirred, no breeze touched the leaves, and for a heartbeat the forest held its breath.

Then