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category. "My name is Nova," I said, avoiding eye contact by staring down at the yacht's polished teak deck. "I'm twenty years old. I study computer science at Boston University, developing projects on cybersecurity and software engineering, but I also work part-time in graphic design. In other words, I am a completely harmless civilian. My parents live in America. I only came to Crete to visit my aunt and uncle for summer vacation. That is the entirety of the situation." As Matteo threw his jacket back over his own shoulders, he didn't take his dark eyes off me for a single second. A low, rumbling sound vibrated from his throat.

She was in such a state when she noticed a seemingly bond paper stuck to the next book. For some inexplicable reason, her chest suddenly throbbed with a seemingly small voice urging her to pick up the paper and read. So that’s what she did. Maybe it's just a simple exam paper. But she felt differently when she unfolded the paper and was exposed to familiar and very beautiful handwriting that seemed to be computerized because of its perfection. Jenny's whole body went cold and even with resistance inside her, she started reading the letter that Jason had made for her best friend Ara.

--- In a dark corner of the Cathedral, Julian knelt before an old filing cabinet hidden beneath stone tiles. He opened it carefully and retrieved a small metal canister - sleek, silver, and cold. Inside, a single vial. He stared at it, fingers trembling. Then, from behind him, a voice. "You never learned how to clean up after yourself." Julian froze. A figure stepped from the shadows. Tall, coat flapping like a bat's wing. Nova. "You came early," he said. She smiled. "Just in time."

Lionidis left he room to go check on the transportation of the captives in the vans and make sure all the staff were out of the saferoom and accounted for. *** Once Nova had her cup of tea and we were squished into the two-seater sofa, side by side, she was getting sidetracked and rather than discussing the books she was nuzzling into my neck and whispering suggestive comments. “Did the encounter with the books make you horny or something?” I whispered “I don’t know.” She said with a slow, dirty smile. Spreading over her luscious lips. “I don’t know if it’s the adrenaline or something but it’s like there is this extra energy under my skin and I want to expend it in a very specific way”

“The ruins, the bloodshed—let them see what’s waiting for them if they don’t fight.” The council fell silent, the weight of her words settling over us like a shroud. Later that day, as the council dispersed, I found Nova sitting alone near the edge of the forest. She stared out at the horizon, her expression distant. “You’re supposed to be resting,” I said, approaching her. She gave me a faint smile. “Resting doesn’t fix anything.” I sat beside her, the silence between us comfortable but heavy. “What’s on your mind?” Nova hesitated, then reached into her pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “I found this while we were searching the ruins. It was tucked in Liora’s journal.”

The handwriting is more or less scribbling, but I can clearly read everything. ‘We are not prisoners anymore. We volunteered.’ I frown at the sight of the whole thing. “Is this Beatrice's handwriting?” I ask Nova as I show her the book, and she nods at me. “It looks like hers, written in a hurry.” She says, confirming my thoughts. If Beatrice is the one who writes this, then she definitely walks into trouble knowingly. But why? Does it mean she isn't kidnapped? “Let's leave,” Nova says calmly. The second we head outside, she looks down at the floor, and we both notice the fresh motorcycle tracks on the ground, leading out of the compound.