Enzo's POV
The silence that descends after the conflict is deafening, the kind that suffocates. Every breath burns, every muscle rebels, but I force myself to stay upright. Blood flows from a wound I can't afford to recognize. Not yet. Emilia stands beside me, her eyes scouring the room for threats, her body stiff and ready to spring. The thrill hasn't gone off, and neither has the risk.
"Emilia," I say, my voice scratchy. "Are you okay?"
She nods, but her eyes don't contact mine. "I'm fine," she lies. I don't push it. We both know what fine really means in our environment.
