I watched Luca as he walked away, his retreat punctuated by the slam of the cabin door behind him.
I stayed where I was, the cool air brushing against my skin as I processed his words. A race? Fine. If that’s what it takes to get out of here, I'll do it.
My thoughts shifted to Ginevra. Something told me he was worried sick wherever he was. He didn't want me to leave in the first place—it was written all over his face, even though he hadn’t said it out loud.
The memory of his concerned eyes sent a pang of guilt through me. And then there was the dream.
No, not a dream. It felt too vivid, too real. Like a memory brought to life.
But how could that be possible?
That night, I sat on the bed, staring out the window. The soft hum of the wind outside barely reached me, and the walls of this room felt like a cage.