Close Call.

The narrow alley in Milan was a winding labyrinth of cobblestones and shadows, the afternoon sun casting long, dark lines against the walls of the tall buildings. George and Jonah Evershade, their breaths ragged and hearts pounding, leaned against the cold brick to catch their breath after fleeing the site of their crashed car.

"Are you alright?" George asked, his voice still shaky from the adrenaline surge.

"Yes. I'm alright. I'm good," Jonah replied, his breathing still labored. "Who are... who were those guys?"

"The Council," George said, still gasping. "They must have sent mercenaries after us. It's one of two things: either they put a bounty on our heads, and wannabes are trying to take us out to make a name for themselves, or they directly hired a hitman for that specific reason."

Catching his breath, George continued, "I pray it better not be the latter or else we're fucked!"