The Italian sun was beginning its descent toward the horizon, painting the sky in shades of amber and rose and deep purple. The mansion stood behind them like a palace, beautiful, imposing, a reminder of the wealth and power that had brought them to this place. The late afternoon light cast long shadows across the manicured gardens, creating patterns that suggested both elegance and captivity.

Alyra took the seat in the back of the car, her movements careful and deliberate, still learning how to exist in a body that felt both hers and not hers simultaneously. She wore a simple dress in soft blue, a colour that complemented her recovering eyes, that suggested peace rather than drama. Her hair was pulled back in a careful arrangement, and she wore minimal makeup, her face showing the particular vulnerability of someone who was healing.