The rain started just as Luca found him.
It soaked into the ruined courtyard, turning dust into mud, blood into dark slicks beneath broken stone. The fortress had been abandoned hours ago cleared by the Iron Crown in silence but Luca knew Marco wouldn't run far. Men like Marco never fled chaos.
They hid inside it.
"Come out," Luca said calmly, his voice carrying through the shattered arches. "It's over."
A laugh echoed back soft, almost amused.
"You always did like pretending you were the executioner," Marco replied, stepping from the shadows. His coat was torn, his face cut, but his eyes were sharp. Alive. Dangerous. "But you were never built for it."
Luca didn't raise his weapon. Not yet.
"Damian is alive," he said. "Isabella rules. The Iron Crown stands. Whatever fantasy you were chasing this ends now."
Marco tilted his head, studying Luca the way one studies a familiar knife. "You still don't understand," he said quietly. "I never wanted the throne."
