The next morning, the village felt closer, like the air had thickened overnight. Lina went to the bakery. People still watched her, but now they whispered a little louder.
The baker hesitated before handing her the bread. "Signora Marchesi," he said, the first to speak her name aloud in weeks. "You're staying up at Caruso's place?"
She nodded slowly. "Yes."
He paused. "Be careful. That house... it remembers things."
Back at the inn, Milo was fixing a shutter. Shirt off, sweat clinging to him, a hammer clenched between his teeth.
"Need help?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
He spat the hammer into his palm. "Only if you brought a miracle."
"No miracle. Just bread."
He took the bag. "Close second."
They sat under the lemon tree to eat. No pages that morning, no fresh hauntings. But Lina's nerves hadn't stilled.
"You're not surprised people talk about you," she said after a while. "You live like a myth."
"Better than living like a cautionary tale."
She tilted her head. "Is that what I am to them?"
"To them? Maybe. To me... I'm still undecided."
She tore off a piece of bread, chewing slowly. "You think I killed him?"
Milo looked at her, the lines around his eyes tightening. "I think grief and guilt are twins. Hard to tell apart unless you know the whole story."
"And what if I never do?"
He leaned in, elbows on knees. "Then you live with the weight. That's the deal."
She hesitated. "Have you?"
"Every day."
The silence that followed wasn't empty—it was a room they both sat inside, made of things unspoken.
Later that afternoon, she found a photograph tucked into the mailbox. Her, standing at the edge of the rocks above the sea, barefoot, face turned away. It wasn't recent. It looked like it had been taken the night he died.
She stormed into the kitchen, holding it up.
"Is this some kind of threat?"
Milo looked at it. His face darkened.
"Where did you get this?"
"Someone put it in the box. Someone who's playing a game."
He took the photo and studied it closely. "This wasn't from here. It's grainy. Low-res. Maybe from a security cam."
"So someone was watching?"
Milo's jaw clenched. "Looks that way."
"You still think this is just about guilt?"
He didn't answer immediately. "No. Not anymore."
She watched him pace, something like fear flickering in his eyes.
"I know someone who can look into this," he said finally. "He's not official, but he's thorough."
"You trust him?"
"I don't trust anyone. But I trust what he finds."
Lina felt the weight of the photograph in her palm. A timestamp in the corner: 01:34 AM.
"That's hours after the fight," she murmured. "He was already dead."
"Then you weren't alone."
Her eyes locked onto his. "No. I wasn't."
And suddenly, everything tilted.
Someone had been there. Watching. Waiting.
And they wanted her to remember.