The thunder rolled like a curse above the cathedral.
Rain seeped through the broken roof, drops landing on the altar one on Adora's cheek, one on Marco's trembling hand.
He pressed his palm against her wound again, desperate. "You're losing too much blood," he whispered. "Stay with me. Just stay."
Her eyes fluttered, unfocused. "You always… chase storms," she murmured weakly.
"Because they sound like you," he said, voice breaking.
She tried to smile, but it came out as a tremor. "Then you'll never stop chasing."
"Not if it means finding you."
Another flash of lightning illuminated the stained glass above them fractured saints, bleeding colors over her skin. For a moment, Marco thought he saw something divine in the chaos, but it faded as quickly as her pulse beneath his fingers.
"Adora," he breathed, shaking her lightly. "Don't you dare close your eyes."
Her lips parted, her voice barely a breath. "If I don't… you'll never let me go."
"I'm not supposed to," he said. "You're the only thing that's real in all this filth."
Her fingers twitched against his chest, smearing his shirt with her blood. "Then promise me something."
"Anything."
"When it ends… you stop running. Even if it means letting go."
His throat tightened. "Don't talk like that."
"Promise me, Marco."
The sound of sirens echoed faintly in the distance too far to save her, too close to stay.
"I promise," he whispered.
Her eyes softened. "Good."
Then her body went still.
For a heartbeat, he thought she'd fallen asleep until the silence grew too deep. The pulse beneath his fingers faded. Her hand slipped from his chest and landed softly against the stone.
"Adora?"
Nothing.
The word tore from him, raw and unholy. "ADORA!"
His scream broke through the cathedral like a wound. He pulled her against his chest, shaking, whispering her name again and again until it became a prayer, a curse, a confession.
When the sirens grew louder, he didn't move. He just sat there, holding her the king of blood, crumbling beneath the weight of his own kingdom.
Rain poured harder, washing the floor red.
He didn't remember the moment he left the cathedral. One blink, and he was in the car again, her body beside him, the city lights blurring into nothing. Every street looked the same. Every sound felt like a ghost.
By the time he reached the old safehouse in the industrial quarter, the rage had returned quiet, cold, absolute.
He laid her on the bed, brushed the hair from her face, and whispered, "You wanted me to stop running, but they won't stop until I make them."
He stood, pulled his gun from his belt, and loaded it slowly one bullet at a time. Each click sounded like a heartbeat.
Luciana had started this. Enzo had betrayed him. But Marco would finish it.
He wiped his face, blood and tears mixing under his fingertips. "You wanted proof, Adora," he murmured. "You'll have it."
He turned to leave, but paused in the doorway looking back one last time at the woman who had somehow made even monsters believe in love.
Then he stepped into the rain.
And the city, sensing the storm he'd become, began to tremble.