The morning after their kiss, Amara woke in Leo's arms, the scent of rain and old books filling the quiet room. The city outside was still sleeping, wrapped in a gentle fog that turned Verona's rooftops into a dreamscape. She lay still, watching the soft rise and fall of Leo's chest, his face finally at peace.
But even in that fragile stillness, her mind whirled.
So much of him remained hidden—whole chapters of his life bound in secrets, written in blood and silence. And yet, she was no longer certain that fear alone could keep her away.
She carefully slipped out of bed and moved toward the shelves where scattered pages of music rested. But among the loose sheets, a weathered leather folder caught her eye. Its spine was cracked, and inside were letters—hundreds of them. All addressed to no one.
Amara opened the first one carefully.
Claudia,
I still dream about the fire. I try to scream, but no sound comes. I wonder if you felt pain, if you called my name before the smoke took you. If you died hating me.
I never got to say goodbye.
She froze, fingers trembling over the paper.
These weren't letters sent. These were confessions. Grief poured out in ink.
She flipped through several more—each one more haunting than the last. Some were apologies. Others memories. One was just a single sentence, written again and again:
I should have saved you.
Behind her, the mattress shifted.
Leo's voice came, low and rough. "You found them."
She turned, guilt blooming in her chest. "I didn't mean to—"
"It's okay," he interrupted softly, sitting up. "I don't hide them. I just… never expected anyone to read them."
"They're beautiful," she said. "And heartbreaking."
"They're the only way I know how to speak to her now."
Amara crossed the room and sat beside him. "Have you ever thought about publishing them?"
Leo let out a hollow laugh. "What would I call it? A Murderer's Diary?"
"You're not a murderer."
"I might as well be." His jaw tensed. "If I'd stayed, if I'd listened to her that night… she might still be alive."
"Leo." She took his hand. "You left because you were scared. That's not the same as killing someone."
He said nothing, but his silence was its own confession.
Later that day, they ventured out together for the first time since everything changed. Leo showed her places he remembered from childhood—a bakery that still sold his favorite almond pastries, a fountain where his brother once dared him to jump in, and the ivy-covered ruins of a theatre where Claudia had once played piano beneath a shattered chandelier.
They didn't talk much, but the silence was comfortable now. Full of weight, but also of hope.
At sunset, Amara paused on the steps of the old theatre. "Tell me something," she said.
Leo glanced at her, the fading sunlight painting golden lines across his cheek.
"If you could go back—before the fire, before Claudia—would you?"
He was quiet for a moment. "No."
"Why?"
"Because if I changed anything… I might never have met you."
The words hit her like a tide. She swallowed hard, heart thrumming in her chest.
"I want to be honest with you," she said. "I don't know what we're doing, or what this is going to turn into. But I don't want to walk away. Not now."
He reached out, brushing her cheek with his fingers. "Then don't."
That night, Amara received a message from an unknown number.
You're making a mistake.
He's lying to you.
Meet me tomorrow. Noon. Via Sant'Andrea.
Her stomach dropped. No name. But she didn't need one.
Mara.
She stared at the message, her thoughts racing. She didn't want to keep secrets from Leo—but if there was even a chance that Mara had more to reveal, she had to hear it.
The next morning, she slipped away quietly.
Via Sant'Andrea was a narrow lane lined with antique shops and shuttered galleries. Mara stood beneath a crumbling archway, dark sunglasses covering her eyes.
"You came," she said, folding her arms.
"I want the truth," Amara said. "Not riddles. Not threats. Just the truth."
Mara pulled a file from her coat. A thin folder with newspaper clippings, photos, and a police report. She handed it over.
"That," she said, "is what Leo won't tell you."
Amara opened it.
The headlines hit her like punches:
FIREFIGHTERS BATTLE BLAZE IN VERONA APARTMENT
MYSTERIOUS DEATH OF LOCAL MUSIC TEACHER
BOYFRIEND QUESTIONED, THEN DISAPPEARED
One photo showed Leo being led away from the burning building, blood on his shirt.
Another showed Claudia—young, smiling. Radiant.
Amara looked up. "You kept this?"
"I've kept everything," Mara said. "Because I loved him once. And I almost died because of it."
Amara stared at her. "Do you want to destroy him, or save him?"
Mara's lips thinned. "That depends on you."
Back at the apartment, Leo was waiting.
She walked in, folder pressed to her chest, heart shattering.
"I saw her," she said.
He nodded, as if he'd known she would.
"She gave me this." She set the folder on the table.
He didn't look surprised. Just… tired.
"Do you believe her?" he asked.
"I don't know yet," Amara said. "But I believe you're not the same man you were back then."
He stepped closer. "Do you still want to stay?"
She swallowed. "I don't know that either. But I'm not leaving. Not yet."
His eyes closed briefly, then he took her hands.
"We'll figure this out," he whispered.
But even as he said it, thunder cracked across the sky—and Amara had the feeling the worst was still to come.