Nico's van rolls quietly through the dark streets, bouncing gently on the bumps in the road. The city lights flicker on and off outside the window, sliding in blurry prints across the glass. The wet asphalt reflects neon glare, and streets are immersed in a kaleidoscope of colors - cold blue, red, yellow spots of light dissolve in the night mist. And interior is filled with the muffled sound of an old rock - slightly crackling radio sings along, sometimes out of tune, but the melody still has the same vibe as it did decades ago. The air smells of gasoline, warm metal, cigarettes and some faint aroma of coffee which has long cooled in a paper cup on the dashboard.

Nero sits lazily leaning back in the chair, his gaze fixed on the window, but his thoughts wander somewhere deeper. The adrenaline of the battle is already fading, leaving behind a pleasant fatigue and a bitter aftertaste – not fear, not regret, just the realization that he's once again returned from where not many returns. He thinks of Dante – that eternal incorrigible ironist who's walked this path to the end. Of Vergil, who always knew what he wanted, even if his path was full of nightmares. And of himself – a guy who grew up fighting and now must decide what to do next. Does he want to live a life that revolves around swords and the expulsion of darkness? Will he always catch his own shadow ,as his father did?

He shifts his gaze to the silhouette of Nico behind the wheel – she says little, only occasionally tapping her fingers on steering wheel in time with the music, muttering about some roads. A mechanic, a friend, someone who is always there. But then he turned, looking behind the seat, further into van, looking at another of his companions, which made him chuckle weakly and raise an eyebrow, breaking the tense atmosphere.

"Sooo... Another mission was successful, albeit difficult.", - he said calmly as his head tilted to the side, - "Who has any plans for the evening? We can drive to my and Kyrie's home. I'm sure she'll be happpy to see y'all."