Narrator’s Point of View

The blast still haunted the walls of Manolo’s mansion. What once gleamed with untouchable luxury now reeked of smoke and scorched stone. Two guards lay dead, their blood drying dark against the marble steps that led to the grand foyer. The metallic stench clung to the air like a curse that refused to lift.

In one of the mansion’s guest rooms, Dimitri sat propped on a bed, shirtless, a strip of gauze wrapped around his shoulder where shrapnel had kissed his skin. ...